You're So Sweet
by CeliaEquus
Summary: It's Christmas time, and the Avengers and friends are working on home-made presents. Phil and Steve are paired together for their project, and decide to bake for their friends. But there's more than just culinary sweetness brewing. Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any other Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this. Capsicoul!
1. 1st of December

"1st of December"

JARVIS emailed each person the name of their Christmas gift-giving partner. This consisted of the Avengers and their friends, including Phil Coulson. When Tony found out that he was alive, he abducted the agent for the holidays, and forced him to agree to take part.

"You're gonna be here for Christmas, so you're joining in," Tony said. "Now add your name to the list."

"Are you actually trying to give me an order, Stark?"

"Don't be a Scrooge, Agent-Agent."

Phil had rolled his eyes, and keyed in his name. JARVIS thanked him, and said that he would ensure a complete stranger chose pairings at random, without influence. The reassurance didn't make Phil feel any better about it. But what choice did he have?

Now he was dreading that little closed envelope at the corner of his screen. He clicked on it, and the email appeared.

'STEVE ROGERS'.

Great. Phil was paired with Captain America. He hadn't spent enough time with the man to get over being star-struck, and this hardly seemed to be the best way to achieve that. However, he was committed to this. Tony had been child-like when he described the idea he and Pepper had come up with. According to Tony, Secret Santa was too boring; his idea, he said, was completely original. To be fair, Phil had never heard of this kind of gift-giving before.

There were two parts. The first was that they would all be paired by random selection, and the pairs would have to work out some kind of present to give to everyone else. Each would, fundamentally, be the same, and all hand-crafted. JARVIS would obtain any supplies they needed, and would make sure that each team was undertaking a different project. The second part was that each person in the couple would give the other a present of their own. Whatever they wanted, were able to afford, could get in time, etc. All presents would be exchanged on Christmas Day, without exception. The party would be open to anyone connected with them, including Phil's team from the Bus.

Not that he had to be separated from them for all of December. If the others could go to work for emergency reasons, he should be allowed to as well.

When he'd suggested that, Phil had been on the receiving end of quite a few pairs of puppy-dog eyes. Something about them not wanting him to 'abandon' them again. He tried to point out that they technically weren't his team; they didn't 'assemble' until after his death. May, Grant, FitzSimmons, Skye… they were his team.

(The Avengers didn't like that, not that they could argue with his logic. And the guilt on their faces curtailed any further protests on his part, effectively ending the conversation.)

Phil's mobile rang. He answered it without even looking at the screen. "Coulson."

"Agent Coulson! Hi."

"…Captain Rogers. Hello."

"Did you get the message from JARVIS?"

"I've just read it."

"I'm guessing we'll need to meet up sometime."

"I can drop by the tower after work, barring emergencies," Phil said, mentally running through his schedule for the day. "Should be fine."

"Why didn't you accept Tony's invitation to stay with us?" Steve asked. "It'd make things easier."

"There's only so long I can be exposed to Tony Stark without feeling the need to strangle him."

"Well, we all feel like that sometimes," Steve said. "We just deal with it by hanging out somewhere else. He's mostly in his workshop anyway. Come on, Agent Coulson."

"Call me Phil," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We're going to be working together for the next three and a half weeks."

"So call me Steve. None of this 'captain' stuff. I sort of stole that title anyway." He cleared his throat. "So, uh, what time after work? JARVIS can bring you straight to my floor, and we can plan this whole thing out. I've got pen and paper. I mean, you're probably used to your little screens, but I think better when I'm doing something physically."

That was a mental image to take to bed. Phil was going to have to snap out of that if they were going to get anything done. Any _work_ done.

"I'll call you before I leave," he said.

"Okay, Phil. Bye!"

"Goodbye… Steve."

He thought Steve made a pleased hum, but attributed it to a bad line.

* * *

Phil always eyed Stark Tower askance. Ever since the Avengers discovered that he was alive, there'd been attempts to drag him over there to live with them. Tony had promised Phil a floor all to himself. It was hardly a fair offer; it wouldn't be any quieter than at SHIELD or on the Bus, but the Avengers were still a volatile team, from what he'd observed. If he wanted a headache, he'd listen to loud music.

But it was the fact that the last time Phil had been to Stark Tower, he'd been there to rope Tony into the Avengers Initiative. Within twenty-four hours, Phil had been stabbed through the chest, the tower had suffered significant damage to the upstairs apartment, and Tony had flown a nuke into another dimension. He wasn't superstitious; he just didn't like reawakening painful memories by association.

However, this time he was going straight to Steve's floor, which he hadn't seen yet. Phil wasn't sure whether he should be more nervous about being alone with the captain, or whether he should be relieved that no one would disturb them.

Phil cleared his throat when the elevator door opened. Steve looked up from the sofa, where he'd been sketching.

"Come in!" he said, standing up. Phil stepped out of the elevator, and the doors closed behind him without a sound. He walked over to the sofa and held out his hand. Steve paused, and then shook it before Phil could rethink his strategy of remaining business-like.

"It's good of you to have me over, Steve," he said. (He'd practised calling him Steve on the way from SHIELD headquarters.)

"C'mon," Steve said, finally letting go of Phil's hand. "I've got paper and pens out, just like I said."

"You're very organised," Phil said, and he smiled. He sat in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Steve perched on the edge of the sofa, and pushed some of the stationery across to Phil.

"I was a soldier," Steve said. "Still am." He balanced a clipboard on his knee and tucked a pen behind his ear. "I heard you were a Ranger?"

"That's right," Phil said. "A long time ago."

Steve smiled, and shuffled back on the cushions. "Okay. Ideas. Shoot."

"What're you good at?"

"You mean you don't already know from one of my wildly inaccurate biographies?" he asked. Phil's cheeks heated up. "I'm just teasing, Phil."

"I know you're an excellent artist."

"Oh, well." Now Steve was blushing. "Not that good…"

Phil indicated the sketchbook, open at a picture of a Christmas tree. "Yes, you are."

Steve looked unsure. "If you say so."

"I, on the other hand, can't draw to save my life, and this has to be something we do together."

"You could do the colouring in," Steve said. His eyes crinkled at the edges.

"I'd hate to ruin your work. What else do you love to do?"

"Well… I can cook. During the Depression I had to, but then I got out of practise after I finally got enlisted. I've been practising since I moved in. Bruce and I do the most cooking around here. When they're not on missions, Natasha and Clint do some of the work. But Tony's pretty much useless in the kitchen unless it's making coffee. Thor's getting better with Jane's help, but they're not here all the time. They'll be here for Christmas, though."

"Good," Phil said, nodding. "I hear you're good friends with him."

"You would've known that if you'd been around earlier," Steve muttered. Then he glanced up and winced. "I'm sorry, Phil. Please ignore that."

Phil knew he deserved that. He also knew that he owed the Avengers nothing, now that they'd been told the truth (or as much of the truth as he knew).

"We could bake something," he said. "Christmas food."

"Won't we already be eating Christmas food on… on Christmas Day?"

"Something for them to have after that. Snacks, like shortbread, or fudge. Even candy, if we can manage it. I know how to follow a recipe, and I have my mom's book. She wrote up a whole bunch of them for different times of the year, and for ordinary use, when I moved out of home. I had to leave them in storage before going into the army. There'll be something we can use there. Anything else we need, we can find—"

"In library books? I know there are a lot of cookbooks in libraries nowadays."

"I was going to say the internet, but if you have the time to visit a library, go right ahead."

"…No. No, it's okay."

"Really, Steve."

He sighed. "We can't just give them food in paper bags. What if we got some boxes or tins? They have Christmassy ones in dime stores all over the place."

"Yeah," Phil said. "Tins can be washed and reused."

"I could make cards and gift tags."

"I'm sure I can handle making gift tags. Just as long as drawing doesn't come into it."

"I'll design something," Steve said, perking up. "And I can get all the supplies."

"I'll buy the ingredients, and anything else we need."

"Or we could just split all the costs."

"That sounds fair," Phil said. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Mr. Coulson?"

"No one else has come up with the same idea, have they?"

"Not yet, sir. You and Mr. Rogers are the first to decide on making sweets as your project."

"Great!" Steve said, and he clapped his hands. "Does that sound good, Phil?"

"It sounds reasonable. When should we meet again? We'll need to go through the recipe books together."

"I've got something on tomorrow. The day after that?"

Phil nodded. "In the meantime, what kind of recipes do we want? Since you went to the trouble of getting out pens and paper."

"Cookies. We have to have chocolate-chip cookies."

"That's a start." Phil noted it. "Fudge or brownies?"

"Both."

"Steve, not everyone will appreciate developing diabetes over the holiday season." At the look on Steve's face, he silently felt cursed his thoughtlessness. "We'll put the fudge in plastic first. The brownies and cookies will be fine on their own."

Watching Steve Rogers smile like that could cure diabetes, goddamnit. "Thanks, Phil. I mean, if you think it's too much—"

"No, it's fine. We should balance the extremely sweet things with plain shortbread. I'll bring my Christmas cookie cutters."

"Gingerbread?"

"All right."

"Candy canes?"

"I… don't know how to make candies, but we'll see what kind of recipes there are out there. At least with two of us, it will take only half the time."

"I guess we should make them in some kind of order," Steve said. "Some things won't last as long as others."

Phil gave him a small grin. "If we make them superbly, they'll all be eaten before the new year."

"That's the spirit," Steve said. "Anything else?"

"We only have until Christmas Eve to do all this, Steve, and we both have other commitments until then. We should discuss Christmas card designs."

"All right." Steve grabbed his sketchbook. "Let's do that next."

* * *

**I'm planning to bake biscuits and suchlike for Christmas, for the people coming to our place, and Mum and I will be getting boxes to package them. I'm also planning to make Christmas cards for family. But I'm not as organised as this. Oops. On the plus side, I have a hell of a lot of biscuits cutters, all different shapes and sizes, including Christmas ones.**

**Anyway, I'll try to remember to include links to the recipes I use, or references if the recipes aren't online.**

**Please review! I'm going to include each of the requests made on Tumblr for this fic. With any luck, I'll have most, if not all, of this story written by the time I start posting.**


	2. 3rd of December

"3rd of December"

The elevator door opened with a cheerful ding, and Steve grinned as Phil stepped into the room.

"Hi, Phil," he said. "Need some help with that box?"

Phil raised his eyebrows. "It isn't heavy, and I'm not an invalid. I'm perfectly capable of carrying a box of recipe books."

Steve pursed his lips and looked down at the designs he was fiddling with. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just being polite. And I didn't know whether you'd want to spread things out or not. You know, on the kitchen counter…" He trailed off, slightly irritated and also a bit hurt. Phil sighed.

"I apologise, Steve," he said. "It's been a… difficult day."

"I thought you were okay?"

"Turns out that 'okay' is subjective." He placed the box where Steve indicated. "Let's get started on this. I know it's movie night tonight, and I'd hate to keep you from that."

"You're welcome to join us. You're staying here at the moment, aren't you?"

"Part of the reason it's been one of those days. Stark keeps insisting on it, and I keep refusing."

"You should consider it. It'll only be for Christmas."

Phil opened the box. "I brought the Christmas cookbook, the Halloween one—"

"Wow, your mom was thorough."

"The Easter one, and the New Year one." Phil placed all four on the countertop. "There were a few other recipes in random books, and the rest of the ones she left to me. I copied them down. I also brought this." He lifted out a book stand. "In case you didn't already have a recipe book holder."

"Great," Steve said, looking it over. "This is perfect."

"Keep it. I don't have enough time to do much cooking, and anything I cook on a regular basis is in here." He tapped the side of his head. "Anytime you want to borrow any of my other books, just ask."

"That's nice of you. Thanks. That sounds even better than borrowing cookbooks from the library."

Phil smiled, and placed the photocopied recipes on top of the other books. He lifted the empty box from the barstool and set it on the floor, out of the way. Then they perched next to each other and looked over the loose recipes first.

"Chocolate-filled caramels?" Steve asked, holding up the first one.

"I know it's ambitious," Phil said. "I've never made them before. But some of the other recipes I've made time and time again, so they're fool-proof. Rumballs I know like the back of my hand, and the shortbread's easy. It's cutting out the shapes that takes the most time. Here." He lifted out the page from the bottom of the pile. It was a picture of cookie cutters. "All the Christmas ones I have."

"Wow." Steve touched the sheet, and accidentally brushed Phil's hand. He caught the page before it could fall. "Sorry. These are great. Stars, a stocking, Santa, reindeer, tree, angel… it's incredible. I had no idea how many kinds were out there."

"There are a lot more. You can even get kits to make gingerbread houses."

Steve whistled. "I don't know why anyone would want more. These are perfect, just as they are. Are we going to ice them?"

"My one downfall is icing," Phil confessed. "But if you're any good, go for it. Either that, or you could trace lines on them. Give the angels faces; put tinsel on the trees. There are shops which sell stamps, but I'm sure you could do a much better job yourself."

"I'm sure we can figure out frosting together," Steve said. He put the photograph back own. "What other recipes have you got?"

Phil pushed aside the sheets, and picked up the Christmas cookbook. "We can use some of these on the day, for ordinary meals and snacks for the table. But since we're going with things to put in tins, there's shortbread shapes. A similar recipe is in the New Year book. With that one, you press the dough into a round tin, and then cut it into wedges after it's been baked and cooled off. You can press glace cherries onto the edges before cooking. It's a good recipe. Not practical for what we want to do, but maybe something for New Year. If I stay for that."

"Please do," Steve said, and he looked down at Phil. "We'd hate for you to go. I know you have important work to do, but it'd make us happy if you stayed."

"I'll see. Any of us could be called at any time, even Christmas Day."

"It's okay," Steve said. "I'm going to keep praying that we can all be together for Christmas. With any luck, the supervillains will celebrate at the same time, and just… not attack anyone."

"Is it bad that that could be the best Christmas present ever?" Phil said, still flipping through the pages.

"It's not bad at all."

Phil hummed 'Winter Wonderland' as they went through each of the books. They found a good triple chocolate fudge recipe in the Easter book, which Phil said gave him toothache just thinking about it. There were also some tips on working with chocolate, which Steve wrote down. There were more candy recipes in the Halloween book, and some good icing recipes. Steve was determined to try making it, at least. They'd do a test run with some sugar cookies first.

"What about chocolate chip cookies?" he asked, flipping through the Christmas book again. "There isn't a rec—"

"In that pile," Phil said, nodding towards the photocopies. Steve fought not to blush, embarrassed that he'd forgotten about them. In his defence – and it wasn't much of a defence – he'd been too caught up talking with Phil to remember things like that.

"I'll just—"

"I'm closer," Phil said, and he handed the pages to Steve, who'd gone to reach around. As Steve sat back, he brushed against Phil again, this time his back. Phil didn't seem to notice, which was a relief. But it made Steve feel warm.

"Thanks," he said, and he sifted through until he found a couple of recipes. One of them had coconut.

"They're good. The dough can be a bit wet, which makes it harder for the chocolate chips to stick. But they're fine once they're baked. My half-sister came up with them."

"You have a half-sister?" Steve really didn't know much about Phil at all. He'd have to change that.

"From my father's second marriage. Mom was number three. Dad never really had much luck with women. Rachel's my only sibling. She's four years older than me."

"You father really didn't have much luck, did he? Well, except that he had you. Your mom did, that is."

Phil smiled, looking a little confused, and Steve couldn't blame him. "Thank you."

"So do you have any favourites?" Steve asked. "No one in the team has told me about any allergies since we started living together."

"Pepper is allergic to strawberries, Tony is allergic to most nuts, and Bruce is a vegetarian when he can afford to be."

"Oh, I know about Bruce. Tony hasn't mentioned the nut thing. I'm glad you told me."

"Are you allergic?"

"I used to be allergic to a lot of things, but the serum's taken care of that."

"Good," Phil said. "All right. What have you written so far?"

"Uh…" Steve showed him. "Not much."

"No, that's good. We'll use the books as much as we can. I have digital copies of them, but it's much easier to use the book stand. And I prefer to use paper recipes."

"Me too," Steve said. He smiled. "Okay. What are we making, and when?"

"The absolute latest should be about eleven or twelve days before Christmas. We should make the candies then, as well as practise making iced cookies. Shortbread lasts awhile. Brownies and fudge need to be made closer to time. We'll have to plan contingencies, in case work gets in the way."

"I'll get started on the cards," Steve said. "They shouldn't take long to put together. It's mainly getting the supplies together and preparing them. We also need to find boxes."

"I'm aware of that. Do you prefer tin or cardboard?"

"The kid from the Depression inside of me says tin; it can be used again and again."

"Then we'll do that," Phil said. "Some of the better cardboard boxes are so nice that you wouldn't want to throw them out anyway."

"When should we get on to that?"

Phil looked thoughtful for a minute, and then hopped down from the barstool.

"Let's go scouting for them now," he said. "We can get a feel for what's out there, and then give it some thought. There's a store down the road, and another three blocks from here. We can check them out at least. You know what the cards and tags will look like." He lifted the box back onto the stool. "You can find something which complements them."

Steve nodded, and went to fetch his wallet. When he returned, he found that Phil had packed the books and papers away.

"Are you taking them home?" he asked. Phil glanced up at him.

"I'm leaving them here," he said. "This will keep them all in the one place, and you can go through and make a list of what we need to buy."

"Sounds good. So." Steve walked up to Phil. "Let's get going."

* * *

**I'm torn over what size boxes to get. You know, in real life. Steve and Phil will apparently be going all out over this, which means they can get bigger boxes, and just get individual ones. I don't have that luxury, although I have more time than they do to get stuff done. But then again, I'm spending that time writing.**

**I fully intended to have this all written before I began posting. Ha. But I'm determined to make sure that I have each chapter out on time, even if it means having to write on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to get it done. As I'm writing this, we don't have internet. Hopefully, by the time it's posted, we will.**

**Please review! And do tell me to get on with writing this.**


	3. 4th of December

"4th of December"

It was a good time for Steve to ring. Phil was getting tired of the paperwork he was going through. Didn't people realise that his team on the Bus was perfect? Well, not perfect, but they were used to each other, and had been together since the beginning. Any newcomers would disrupt the balance they had established. For example, FitzSimmons had a dual name for the very reason that they were a matching pair. Ward had enough trouble getting used to new people, and not everyone could get along with Skye. May was a private person. And Phil… he was having enough trouble trying to find out what had happened to him.

On the fourth ring, he realised that he was wool-gathering, and answered.

"I thought you weren't going to pick up," Steve said by way of greeting.

"Sorry. I was thinking."

"About what?"

"Work."

"…Okay. Well, I'm out at the moment, and I've found the perfect boxes. They're not overly decorated, which means that the tags will stand out, but they're still Christmas-themed. Do you want me to send you a picture for approval?"

"I trust your judgement."

"But we're supposed to decide these things together," Steve said. Phil turned to his computer.

"What's the name of the store?" he asked. Steve told him. "All right. I'm just looking them up online. I can call you back."

"No, I'll stay on the line. They have some craft supplies as well. There are some great stickers, coloured card…"

Phil half-listened as he found the store's website, and looked at the boxes on the digital catalogue. He interrupted Steve mid-flow to describe them.

"Those are the ones," Steve said.

"They look great. Do you want to get them now?"

"Sure. I'll just go in and get the ones we need."

"Would you prefer me to buy them online? It'll save you the trouble of carrying them."

Steve sounded miffed when he replied, "I'm perfectly capable of carrying them, Phil. They're tin, not lead."

"I was referring to the bulkiness."

"It's fine," Steve said. "I'll look at the scrap-booking stuff while I'm here."

"Get whatever you need," Phil said. "I'll pay you back later."

"Only half, remember?"

Phil remembered. "Then I'll see you on Friday. I have a medical appointment tomorrow, and it'll take all day. It's unnecessary, but an evil nonetheless."

"Let me know if there's something wrong."

"Goodbye, Steve."

"Bye, Phil."

His hand shook as he placed the phone back down, and he clicked out of the website. He hated these tests. When it was just Jemma Simmons supervising him, that was fine; a whole team of doctors and specialists there would unsettle him, and possibly skew the results. SHIELD only needed a small excuse to take the Bus and his people away from him, and he didn't want to risk that. He'd have to perform breathing exercises beforehand. Bruce had lent him a DVD on yoga, and Phil decided that he would try his hand at it – so to speak – this evening.

What was he supposed to get Steve for Christmas? Art supplies would be the obvious answer, which was all the more reason not to buy them. He wanted to be original. With the time limit of only three weeks until Christmas, this could prove difficult. Thank God for online shopping.

Tony hadn't said anything about hand-made presents for each partner, and God knows Phil's talents did _not_ lie in that direction. He was being ambitious enough volunteering to put together the gift tags, and leaving everything else in the way of artistry to Steve. That was partly why he wanted to pay more for the supplies; Steve would be doing most of the work, unless he allowed Phil to do the majority of the cooking. He was sure the soldier wouldn't object to being taste-tester, and the man could put it away like nobody's business.

So what could he get? He couldn't bake something; it had to last a lifetime, which was going to be a very long time for Steve. Unless he was killed in battle, or some other accident where his super soldier healing couldn't kick in until it was too late…

That was a horrifying thought, and Phil quickly dismissed it. Instead, he thought over what he knew of Steve Rogers. He'd have to throw out – or donate – those biographies and virtually start over. After all, Captain America was one thing; Steve Rogers was… while not exactly another, he was more than just a costume. Phil understood that; he really did. But he didn't know the man, at all. He would have to spend their time together learning what he could, and as quickly as possible.

Whatever he got, it would have to be aesthetically pleasing to appeal to Steve's love of art. Phil supposed he could always commission a painting of the Avengers. But that would be another easy road, and if he was paying someone to make something it would defeat the purpose of being personal. And a picture of Steve as Captain America wouldn't show that he was over his fanboy infatuation.

(Not that he was entirely over it; but he was getting there, and getting to know Steve would help. Either that, or just make it worse.)

Phil debated over calling someone for help— for ideas. He knew that Peggy Carter was still alive, but talking about it could be painful, and he didn't want to cause her any distress. There were always Steve's team-mates, though. He dialled Natasha's number.

"Coulson?" she said.

"Natasha, how well do you know Steve?" Phil asked, leaning back in his chair.

"As much as he will allow anyone to know him."

"That's… really not helpful."

"You wish to know what to arrange for his present."

"Got it in one."

"Perhaps you should talk to him?"

"I was planning to. But any extra time to think about it would be appreciated."

Natasha was silent for awhile. Finally, she said, "He cares."

"I'd surmised as much for myself," Phil said dryly. "And how am I supposed to turn that into a present?"

"I am not going to do your thinking for you, Phil," she said. "You must decide for yourself."

"It was rhetorical," he muttered. "I want to do something no one else would think of. But does he have any hobbies outside of drawing and painting?"

"And charity work?"

"And charity work."

"You must ask him these things yourself," she said. "Do not be surprised if he asks you questions as well."

"Natasha," he said, frowning slightly, "how did you know that we're partners? For this project, I mean."

"I know what you meant," she said. "And I know because he told me. When he asked what your hobbies are."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "I don't have any hobbies."

"Which is why you must open up to him as well."

"…Thanks, Natasha."

"Good," she said, and she hung up.

Now Phil had something else to consider: what were they going to talk about?

* * *

**Didn't exactly go the way I intended; the conversation with Natasha certainly wasn't in my story notes. But everything else seems to be rocking along fairly well.**

**Please review! I'm hoping to get the internet back today (which is actually the 2****nd**** of December, so it'll be two days ago when you get this), which means I won't have to trot down to the library just to check emails and post the next chapter.**

**I really should stop writing notes like this. Sigh. Hope you're enjoying the story nonetheless.**


	4. 6th of December

"6th of December"

Steve had tried asking Natasha what to get for Phil, at least for some ideas. But her only advice was to talk to him. Well, _obviously_ Steve wasn't going to stay silent the entire time they worked on this project, and _obviously_ he couldn't just talk about the project itself, or he'd seem unfriendly. The point was to get to know Phil, and not just for Christmas gift ideas. He wanted to get to know the man who gave his life (temporarily) to bring them together. Steve had given his life once, or thought he had.

He tried to connect with Tony on that level, but Tony preferred not to talk about it. He could understand panic attacks. Steve had flashbacks and nightmares. But he felt better talking things out. Even though Tony seemed to be doing better, the time had passed for them to bond over that.

However, Steve still had a chance… well, not to bond; there was no point, considering that Phil wasn't going to become their handler. But a chance to make friends with him. He couldn't jump straight into almost-death territory, of course. That was a conversation for later. Right now, he had to work out what to ask Phil, without it looking like he was fishing for ideas.

* * *

"Here." Natasha dumped a pile of magazines she had borrowed from the library onto the table in her apartment. It was the apartment in Stark's tower, but it was the best place to carry out the project she was undertaking with Thor.

"You are certain I will be adept at this task?" he asked.

"You told me you were worried about handling delicate things," she said. "With your amount of strength, and the Asgardian warrior culture, I'm not surprised. Knitting will improve your fingers' dexterity, and it's soothing."

"Ah," Thor said, and he opened one of the magazines. "Did you learn this art for pleasure?"

"For a mission," she said. "This was before SHIELD came along and recruited me." It was to leave it at that. "My homeland can be cold, and woollen clothes come in handy. Until the snow makes them wet." She grimaced. "Then it becomes unpleasant."

"When you proposed this notion, you stated that I could assist you in designing these scarves."

"That's right," she said, and she pushed stationery across to Thor. "Do you remember any Asgardian runes for protection?"

"I remember some."

"I was thinking that we could come up with a pattern which includes these runes. I'll work out which stitches will be required, based on what we decide."

Thor beamed. "That is truly an excellent idea."

Natasha smiled. "I don't know whether they'll work, but it can't hurt. Just as long as they're right."

"I will consult with my…" Then his face fell. "I would have consulted my mother. Perhaps my father?"

"There's bound to be something in a book or on a website somewhere," Natasha said. "Didn't Selvig work out who you are? He must have some knowledge of Norse mythology."

"Not mythology."

"Right," she said. "You can check, then."

"Perhaps Father will allow me to read Mother's old texts," he said, staring off into space. "That would be the wisest course."

"We have less than three weeks until Christmas, Thor. Can you manage that?"

"Absolutely," he said. "It should take no more than one day."

"I'd better start teaching you the basics. Here." She grabbed the bag she had brought with her, and pulled out two sets of knitting needles and some yarn. "Put down the magazine and pay attention."

* * *

Bruce dropped the last of the old bottles on the table. He stared at it and then glanced at Jane.

"What made us think we could do this?" he asked.

"Come on, Bruce," she said, bouncing up and leaning over to look at all the colours. "We're scientists. We can do this."

"I think we're crazy."

"We've checked the internet and we've checked books," she said. "We went to that class the other day. Listen, we'll be doing this all in one go. We only have to make eight of them. Honestly, after a couple of test ones, it'll be easy. And JARVIS bought our cauldrons."

"Are we going to recite 'Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble' while we stir?"

"The ad called it a cauldron," she said. "Look, these are great. Together, we've got a regular cornucopia of different coloured glasses, and two gas masks. Tony's agreed to give us whatever labs we need, no questions asked. JARVIS will supervise. And no one else is doing anything like this, right, JARVIS?"

"That is correct, Dr. Foster. I can assure you that I will intercede if necessary."

"You see?"

Bruce sighed. "We'll need calming music."

"We'll play Christmas songs," Jane said confidently. He raised his eyebrows. "Calm ones. Like… church choir Christmas songs."

He exhaled slowly. "Okay."

"They'll be like stained glass paintings, except for holding candles," she said. "Look, if you're really nervous about it, we could get plain glass and dye it using our awesome science skills. It doesn't have to look like anything, except splashes of colour."

Bruce studied the notes they'd taken. "Someone's obviously done this before, without the benefit of Tony Stark's lab facilities, or JARVIS supervising them. How hard can it—"

Jane shushed him immediately. "Don't say that, or you'll jinx us."

He smiled. "I'm the Hulk. That's enough of a jinx. I still think we're insane."

"Once we get into the swing of melting the glass, it'll be a breeze. And there's always actually staining the glass as a backup plan."

He paused, and then nodded. "Let's begin."

Jane grinned, and pulled out a box of magic markers.

* * *

"This is going to take awhile," Pepper explained as she placed snacks on the table.

Rhodey eyed them. "Coffee and donuts? You're my new favourite person."

"We have a lot of footage to trawl through," she said, and she handed Rhodey his drink. She took the lid off hers to let it cool off a bit. "JARVIS, could you cue it up?"

"Can't we come up with a more creative title than 'The Avengers'?" Rhodey said. "I mean, it's so… bland."

Pepper pushed the open box of donuts towards him, and Rhodey chose a caramel-filled one.

"Look, we'll give it a second title," she said. "'The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes'."

"Ha."

"Or 'The Avengers: Creation'."

"Now we're diving into Bible territory."

She rolled her eyes, and thanked JARVIS when he brought up the list of files.

"What's your idea?" she asked.

"The Furious Six."

Pepper chuckled into her coffee cup, and took a deep sip. "We'll agree on something closer to Christmas, when we have to do the labels."

"Meanwhile, we get to watch home movies of group-building activities," Rhodey said, sitting back and crossing his legs. "I've gotta say, they won't be expecting this."

"They wouldn't exactly want to see themselves in battle mode, when they've become a more cohesive team through games and movie nights," she murmured. "I don't blame them."

"It was a good idea?"

"A very good idea. Thank you for thinking of it, Rhodey. I was completely stuck."

"Hey, it's supposed to be a team effort," he said.

"Even if we're not on their team?"

"Neither are Coulson or Thor's girlfriend, but they're both participating."

Pepper pulled apart her chocolate donut and ate it bit by bit as JARVIS started the footage of the Avengers' first poker game. Thankfully, it wasn't strip poker.

* * *

Clint sidled into the converted secret lab. Tony was already at the piano, waiting for him, smoking hot in his jeans and button-up shirt. The shirt was a light brown, and made his eyes look that much darker. Clint stood on the other side of the piano, and looked at the papers Tony had spread on top.

"Two songs down," Tony said, and he began to warm up with scales. "Ten to go."

"I can't believe we're doing this," Clint muttered, flicking through the music. "How did we decide on this?"

"Because I needed music to think, and you just started singing before I could turn on AC/DC," Tony said. "Then I joined in, and the idea was born."

"Wow. I thought you were going to claim all credit for the idea."

"I'm trying to be a good team-mate."

Clint smiled, those eyes drawing him in. "Okay. Which one are we doing first?"

"'These Are the Special Times'?"

"Sounds good." Clint picked up the sheet music and glanced at Tony. "Running through it first, then recording?"

Tony nodded, and began the introduction. He'd found a dozen Christmas songs arranged for two voices, suitable for both their ranges, and bought them all. The last couple of days they'd worked out who'd sing which part, sometimes adjusting the arrangements, until they were satisfied. And then yesterday they'd rehearsed and recorded the first two songs for the CDs they were making. No one would be expecting it; neither of them sang much in front of other people, and sure as hell not Christmas ballads.

"Go," Tony said, and Clint focussed.

"_In these moments, moments of our lives all the world is ours and this world is so right_," he sang. Then Tony took over.

"_You and I sharing this time together, sharing the same dream, as time goes by we will find_—" Then together.

"_These are the special times, times we'll remember. These are the precious times, the tender times we'll hold in our hearts forever_…"

As they continued, voices blending together and complementing each other, Clint tried not to get distracted by Tony. The billionaire kept looking up at him, still playing, and Clint had a hard time breathing in the right places whenever he caught sight of those baby browns. They could be so damn expressive, especially when Tony was singing like he was now. A Celine Dion song. Clint almost wished he hasn't agreed to this. His stomach kept jumping all over the place.

Somehow, they reached the end of the song without mishap, and Tony waited until the last night completely faded away before breaking the tension.

"Good job, folks," he said. "Let's go back through it and see if there's anything we want to change."

"Okay," Clint said, keeping his hand steady as he picked up a pencil. Tony could stick to his fancy tech; Clint was very much a hands-on kind of guy.

(And since they started this project, he very much wanted to put his hands on Tony Stark. Damn it.)

* * *

**Jane and Thor are the only established relationship in this fic. The plan is for IronHawk get together as well as Capsicoul.**

**Doing okay so far? I hope so.**


	5. 9th of December

"9th of December"

It should've been obvious from the start. Steve couldn't believe he didn't think of it sooner. Just what kind of master strategist was he?

"You definitely don't have them?" he asked, starting to feel desperate. This was the last memorabilia shop in New York City.

"Sorry, but those kind of cards are hard to come by, now that some guy who's supposed to be Captain America has started showing up all over the place," the man said.

"Okay," Steve said, his heart sinking. "Thanks for your time."

"No problem."

He hung up, and sighed. It was time to branch out.

"JARVIS?" he said.

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Where can I find a list of all the comic book stores and collectors' shops in America? I'm sure it won't take long to fly interstate. It's for Phil."

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"Why don't you use the internet to find the trading cards you wish to purchase? A few of the store managers mentioned that as a possibility."

Steve frowned, and leaned back against the headboard of his bed. "They won't be brand new. Not the kind that Phil wants. I have to go through second-hand stores; and people won't just donate them to charity shops. This is the only way."

"With all due respect, sir, it isn't. There are many websites of unquestionable standing which sell second-hand items. Sometimes the only way is through the internet."

"But…" Steve looked down at the phone book Tony had given him as a joke gift on his birthday. Bet he wasn't expecting Steve to actually use it. Or may he was, and it wasn't a joke after all.

"The internet is not an easy way out, Captain. If you wish to do this without assistance, it may take some time, and I am sure you would not wish to fall prey to internet predators."

Steve shuddered. "No, of course not."

"I can, however, guide you to credible sources. I must warn you that purchasing these cards will be an expensive exercise, should you find them."

"I figured that, considering how hard it _is_ to find them," Steve said, and he sighed. "Okay, JARVIS. What do you suggest?"

JARVIS led Steve through a few websites. It was on the fourth one that Steve found most of the cards which had to be replaced, and the sixth website had the others. He knew that the ones which had been stained with Phil's blood were the most valuable, but there were others, and he didn't know where they were. He couldn't sign them without asking Phil, and figured that giving him the whole set, in some kind of book or box to preserve them, would be much better than just getting him a few mint condition cards.

He did nearly faint at the expense, though. Even JARVIS admitted that it was high by today's standards, but that the websites were reputable, and these were probably conservative prices.

"He's worth it," Steve said, although he could hear how weak his voice was. "He had to go through so much, and he won't even tell us how he was healed."

"That is presuming that he knows the full details himself, Captain Rogers."

Steve chose not to dwell on that thought, and made some quick mental calculations. How was he supposed to pay for this, including postage? He'd be perfectly happy to fly out to these places – he was better insurance than anything the postal service could provide – but they insisted on delivery only. He could always borrow the money from Tony, and pay him back. But Steve hated the thought. He needed to do this on his own.

"Is there any way of deferring payment, or reserving the cards?"

"Sir, you could always use your credit card."

…Oh yeah. Steve didn't really use his; it was for emergencies only.

"I forgot about that. Thanks, JARVIS. Yeah, I'll do that. Just let me get—"

"I know your details, sir. I helped you set up the account, if you recall."

Steve put his wallet back on his nightstand. "Then let's do this."

"Express postage, sir?"

"And the highest insurance possible," Steve said. "I wish we could track them."

"There is a tracking system with the insurance," JARVIS said. "Do I have your permission to use your credit card account to purchase these items?"

"Yes," Steve said.

"Very good, sir."

While he was waiting for word from JARVIS, Steve thought about the other part. He needed a case or a book to keep them in. Phil had been so proud of his collection that it was important to keep them safe. _After_ Steve had signed them all, of course.

"…Sir?"

"Yes?" Steve said, looking up. JARVIS had produced a holographic computer screen in front of him, showing both transactions. "You've finished already?"

"Computers communicate much more swiftly with each other than humans do."

"That I'll believe," Steve muttered, and he sank his head onto his knees. "Next, I'll need to go to a store to find something to put the cards in."

"Sir, you could find—"

"Find it on the internet, I know." He rubbed his eyes. "Believe me, I've worked that out for myself by now. But I can't just sit around like this. I have to do something physical, or it'll feel like cheating. I mean, I'll make a card, yeah, and do the wrapping. But I'd like to see these things in person. That's part of the reason why I asked for express post. So that I'll have time, not just to sign the cards, but to make sure that they're the real McCoy."

"Perfectly understandable, sir."

Steve nodded, and lay down to think. Phil had come by yesterday to finalise what they'd be making, and to check out the boxes Steve had bought. Then they talked for a long time, partly about the project, but mainly about each other. Phil was most enthusiastic when he talked about why he joined SHIELD, and why he helped form the Avengers Initiative.

"_Not as many people believe in God – any kind of god – as they used to_," he'd said. "_I wasn't brought up in a religious household, but where some kids believed in dragons and unicorns, I believed in superheroes. I believed that there was always someone out there to protect everyone, even kids like me. When I grew up, I still had faith in heroes, whether it was your favourite teacher, or a fireman, a police officer, or the kid who shared his candy with you. Anyone who was kind to you when you needed it – or even when you didn't need it – was a hero in my eyes._" Then he'd looked sad. "_I've seen enough to know that more and more 'kind' people are only pretending to be pleasant to get their own way. It saddens me that kids aren't going to grow up with the same idealistic outlook I once had. That's why I want to make sure that there'll always be someone around for people to believe in._"

It wasn't that Phil was a long-time fan of Captain America; he barely mentioned Steve's alter ego, or at least not in front of him. It was that, somewhere deep inside, Phil was still that little kid who thought that anyone could be a hero if they did something nice for someone else. Steve couldn't change the world overnight; but he could remind Phil of his inner child, and do what he should have done since the beginning. What should've been obvious. His only excuse was that they'd only recently found out that Phil was alive, and there'd been no reason to give him any presents since then. And Steve didn't know that Phil had never gotten replacements until he spoke to Fury about it.

So now he had his plan. He got to his feet, stuck his wallet into his pocket, and took advantage of the so-so weather to go out in search of something to hold Phil's new cards.

And think about how the hell he'd pay off his credit card debt.

* * *

**I typed this up very quickly when I realised that I hadn't written today's chapter yet. Oops. At least we now have the internet on all night – hurrah! – so, if necessary, I could've hopped online and posted just before midnight. It would no longer apply as the ninth of December, at least not in Australia, but it would be done.**

**So. What do you reckon?**


	6. 11th of December

**Spoilers for 'Thor 2' in this chapter; are we still warning for those? Anyway, if you haven't seen the movie and want to avoid any spoilers, you'd best not read the first half of this chapter. Basically search for 'Phil' or 'Steve' and you'll find where the second half starts. I say half; there's more Asgard than Midgard in this chapter, which was completely accidental. I'll get back to more Capsicoul interactions soon; promise!**

"11th of December"

Thor knelt before the throne.

"I have come to make a request, Father," he said.

"What is this request, my son?" Odin asked.

"A tome from the royal library," Thor said. "On ancient runes."

"Ancient by our standards, or by Midgard's?" There was a twinkle in Odin's eyes when he asked. Thor was surprised, but happy. He had feared that the grief of losing the queen may have threatened his father's reason, and was pleased to see that it was not so.

"Either," Thor said. "Once, I would have asked Mother or Loki, but they…" That was enough to diminish the twinkle, and he was filled with guilt. "Father, do I have your permission to find such a book in the library?"

Odin now seemed distracted, but he nodded brusquely. "Go to it, Thor. You need only request my assistance should you find yourself lost."

"Thank you," Thor said, standing. "We shall neither of us forget them. I am especially grieved for Loki. I… I failed him, and when he had no cause to show us loyalty, he came through at the very last."

"You are not the only one who failed him, my son." Odin grimaced as he turned his head to gaze out the window. "You will find the books on language in the third row of shelves upon the right, when you enter through the main door. Have you any means of copying what you need? Our books may not survive on Midgard."

"I have been provided with appropriate implements."

"Very good." Odin waved him away. "You need not visit me when you desire to leave. I will know."

"Thank you, my lord," Thor said, and he bowed. Odin smiled half-heartedly, and returned to his silent vigil of sky-watching. Thor made a quiet, hasty retreat to the library. Along the way, Sif joined him.

"Before you leave, you must see Fandral," she said.

"Why?" Thor asked. "Of course I desire to see him before my departure. But you make it sound as though there were some particular reason to visit with him."

Sif pursed her lips as they approached the library doors. "He has taken to his room and not yet emerged."

"Give him time. Perhaps he has a delightful young maiden in there." Thor grinned, and pushed open the doors. They creaked softly, and he strode to the third row of shelves. As Odin had said, there were lines of tomes on the various languages and symbols used throughout time.

"He has no maiden," Sif whispered as Thor searched. "Even Fandral would allow a lover to leave his room for food and drink."

"Has he nothing delivered?"

"Very little. Barely enough to feed a child, let alone a grown man and woman."

Thor frowned. "He has not learned the art of concealing himself from view. Not by using magic."

"Such a small amount of food and drink would not sustain the energy required to use witchcraft!" she hissed. "Thor, it has been weeks."

He pulled a book solely on runes from the shelf, and took it to one of the many tables in the library. He sat down, and pulled out the pencils and paper Natasha had gifted to him for this very purpose.

"It is strange," he said. "He has not left his room in _weeks_?"

"Since the elves were defeated, and your mother died," Sif said. The fierce light in her eyes dimmed, and Thor felt for her. She and Frigga had always been fond of each other, from what Thor could tell. Or, to be in earnest, what Loki had told him from his own observations.

"And Loki," he said absently. Sif appeared angry, and Thor attempted to divert her attention by turning the pages of the book until he found the runes of protection. As closely as he was able, he copied each, and noted their meanings below. Sif remained silent, but she nodded in assent when he asked her approval. The book restored to its place, and the writing implements safely stored on his person, he allowed Sif to lead him to Fandral's chambers.

"Fandral, Thor is about to leave for Midgard!" Sif called through the door. There was no reply. "We have not yet bothered Odin with your behaviour, and you acknowledge each day that you live. But if you do not permit admittance to your dearest friend, he will be obliged to break through your door. And do not think that any will help you repair it."

"She speaks aright, my friend," Thor said, frowning. Had his absence driven Fandral to this misery? Or was it the death of Frigga? Thor had ensured that his friends would not be imprisoned for treason, and Odin had been agreeable enough to allow them their freedom, so Fandral could not have been hiding from punishment.

After a tense half a minute, the door cracked open, and Fandral – a ghost of Fandral – peered out at them.

"I am yet living," he said. "This will pass, and I shall be myself again."

Thor gave him no time to close the door, instead swinging it wide open. Fandral's room was in disarray, and empty bottles, once full of mead, lay upon the floor. The sheets of the bed were askew, and the window was covered so that no daylight could brighten the room. If he had not seen the state of his friend, and not experienced the stench for himself, Thor would have supposed Fandral to have entertained half a dozen women.

Instead, Fandral was drawn. His skin had not seen sunlight for days – weeks, according to Sif – and his eyes were sunken, with black circles beneath. There was barely anything of Fandral left. He was but skin and bones, and very little of it. His spirit had seemingly departed, and his expression could have been said to be blank, were it not for the misery in his eyes. Misery and despair. Perhaps he was heartbroken?

"What is this I see?" Thor said, and he grasped Fandral's shoulders. He felt nothing but bone beneath the clothing. "My friend, you are unwell."

"How perceptive you have become during your time on Midgard," Fandral said, his tone harsh; yet his face showed nothing of the energy behind the words.

"You appear as though your very soul had been wrenched from your body and rent asunder by an unworthy maiden," Thor said.

"No maiden has rendered me thus," Fandral muttered, looking away.

"A young man?" Thor knew that Fandral was attracted to beauty, regardless of sex. "He has left you?" Fandral hesitated, and then he nodded. "I knew nothing of this. Is it someone with whom I am acquainted?"

"Was," Fandral said, his voice nearly inaudible. Thor leaned closer, and he noticed Sif drawing near.

"Was?" Thor echoed. "Who was he, then?"

Fandral broke. As tears fell from his eyes, so he fell into Thor's arms. With a choked sob, he said, "Loki."

* * *

It was during a shopping trip with Steve – where he insisted on splitting the bill evenly – that Phil finally had a flash of inspiration. They had been discussing the Avengers, and how Steve was fitting into this new world much better with their support.

"They've been there while I've adjusted," he'd said. "I wish I could repay the favour somehow. But we've grown as a team from one point forward, and nothing before that. We were thrown together, and only Clint and Natasha knew each other. They pretty much all knew _about_ me, Tony and Natasha had met, and Tony and Bruce knew each other's work. But that's it." He chuckled as Phil put a couple of cans of condensed milk into the trolley. "You know what Tony says? He says that we have our origin stories."

"That's the perfect phrase for it."

"Yeah, but some of us lost the people who were part of our origin story, and we can't get them back."

"And you've lost more than anyone else has."

Steve had somehow managed to steer the conversation back to a less depressing topic. In this case, it was arguing over the different things they could add to the fudge. As Phil said, to put bigger cavities into everyone's teeth in one fell swoop. At least the debate had cheered Steve up, and they were on good terms again when they left the store, laden with more ingredients than they needed.

It was night-time now, and Phil was doing a terribly rough outline. It was going to be an unusual present, but it seemed… right. It seemed like the kind of thing that would appeal to Steve's nature. Phil wasn't sure how much it would cost, but he'd spend anything necessary on the captain.

First of all, he would need a display box for everything. It would have to have five compartments at least, and they couldn't just be tiny spaces. Not for the kind of things he had in mind to fill them.

The second part would be the hardest of all. It would involve collecting some meaningful item from each of Steve's fellow Avengers, but an item they wouldn't miss. For Tony, the obvious thing would be his first arc reactor, or some part of it. Something from his origin story. Clint… maybe the head of the arrow he'd lodged in the wall beside Phil when they met? Phil had kept it all this time; and while it held fond memories for him, it would be perfect for the case. Natasha could be tricky, and so could Thor. Bruce would likely be the toughest of all.

"JARVIS?" Phil said, lounging in the armchair Tony had bought for him when Phil agreed to move into a guest room for Christmas.

"Yes, Agent Coulson?"

"Am I allowed to ask for the others' help with Steve's present? Not to put it all together, of course. But if I needed something from each of them to put… towards the gift, could I do that? That's not outside of the parameters Stark set, is it?"

"Mr. Stark did not say so. Perhaps I could help, sir?"

"It might come to that," Phil said. He flipped through pictures of display boxes on his StarkPad, and sighed. "I'll need to schedule in some time for footwork, preferably without giving anyone at SHIELD a heart attack." He closed the webpage, and relaxed back into the micro fibres of the bright red chair. "Does Mr. Stark have anything hanging around that he doesn't need… like one of his original arc reactors… or something?" he finished casually.

"His original arc reactor?"

Of course the AI could pick up on body language and tone of voice. Phil lowered his eyes. "Yes. I want to get a few things together, mementos of the Avengers, for Steve's present."

"That would explain your web searches, sir."

"That isn't creepy at all."

"Forgive me, sir. I could ask Mr. Stark if there is something he would be happy to contribute?"

"Could you tell him that I collect things to remind me of the missions and people in my life, and that I've decided to do that with the Avengers while I'm here?"

"Of course, Agent Coulson."

"Thanks," he said, and he went back to making notes on what he could try to get from the others.

* * *

**How did 1100 words of Fandroki work its way into this story? How? I must have been inspired by that prompt on the kink meme. It's one I've considered filling. Thor's friends go to 'Odin' (i.e. Loki as Odin) to ask him to convince Fandral to leave his room. The premise is that Fandral and Loki had been having a fling, but Loki didn't know how serious it was until the others tell him that Fandral's in solitary mourning. If anyone wants to take at crack at it, let me know, and I'll tell you where you can find it.**

**Please review! And what do you think of Phil's gift idea?**

**To clarify: Odin was really Loki-as-Odin in this chapter. Or perhaps they're sharing the throne, and Odin was really Odin? And we'll get Loki-as-Odin later on? I don't know. Anyone want to see more of this storyline?**


	7. 12th of December

"12th of December"

"Sorry I forgot about them," Steve said as they walked down the supermarket aisle.

"It's no problem," Phil said, and he plucked a box of corn flour off the shelf. "I always get confused between corn flour and rice flour, to be honest. That's why I tend to stick to recipes which only involve all-purpose or self-raising flour."

"Still, we forgot two things – only two – and we've had to make an extra trip."

Phil shrugged, and reached across Steve to grab a packet of glace cherries. He dropped them into the basket, and looked up at Steve.

"It means I get to spend more time with you," he said. Then, embarrassed by his words, he ducked his head. "Is there anything… I don't know, random that you want to get?"

"No," Steve said. "But maybe we could get a coffee after this? And I wouldn't mind running some ideas by you at the art store down the street."

"I trust your artistic judgement," Phil said. "And no coffee."

"Oh."

"It reminds me too much of work."

"Okay. That's fine."

Phil wondered about Steve's tone, and noticed that he seemed a bit down. "But I could go a hot chocolate."

Steve visibly brightened, and nodded. "Let me get this."

"No, I will."

"Then I'll shout us the hot chocolate."

Phil smiled as he looked at his feet, and tried not to trip over them as Steve's arm brushed against his. They were both rugged up for the cold weather; but somehow, it felt like there was barely anything between them.

This has been building during their time together. Moments stolen here and there, phone conversations, emails, text messages. Shopping expeditions like this. They were going to start on the candy tomorrow, which meant up to several hours, depending on how successful they were. Phil secretly hoped that it took a number of attempts to get it right, so they could spend more time together. Maybe that was why he suggested chocolate-filled caramels? Subconsciously, he wanted to get to know Steve better, and the project had provided the perfect excuse.

They left the store, Steve carrying the shopping bag. Phil was on his other side, which meant that their hands were close, occasionally bumping. This was ridiculous. Phil knew that Steve was generally a kind man; but he never would have suspected him to be touchy-feely. He rubbed his gloved hands together and moved half a step further away, to stop his heart from thumping so loudly. Other shoppers jostled him back towards Steve, however, and he accepted that it was best to stick together.

As they neared a coffee shop, Steve wrapped his large hand around Phil's elbow and pulled him close.

"Is that okay?" he asked, tilting his head towards the café. Phil tried not to concentrate too much on the fact that Steve's face was only inches away from his.

"P-perfect," he said. If asked, he would blame the icy New York air. Steve cocked his head, but didn't reply as he steered Phil into the café.

"What do you want?" he asked. "Just the hot chocolate?"

"Probably best," Phil said. "Considering how much junk food we're going to be eating in the next couple of weeks, I think I should give my teeth – and the rest of my body – a break before it starts."

"Something savoury, then?"

"Order what you like. I'll get us a table over there."

Steve smiled, and headed for the counter. Phil steadfastly kept his gaze above waist level, and then hurried over to the only available two-seater table. It was in the corner, but in clear view of the counter. Steve would have been able to find him regardless, but Phil wanted to see him.

Great. Now he was starting to sound like a stalker. At the very least a pervert. Steve deserved better than that. Phil sighed mentally, and restricted his viewing to the tabletop. He did allow himself to play with the packets of sugar, and wondered over Natasha's phone call that morning. She'd wanted to know how long it would take Thor to get to Asgard and then back, and she didn't have Jane's phone number. It was possible that Thor was still upset over what had happened, and was spending extra time with his father. But Thor would never abandon them. Phil was sure he would be back today.

"Don't be mad," Steve said, and Phil nearly jumped. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, you didn't. I mean it's my fault for not paying attention." Phil cleared his throat. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"I ordered a croissant," Steve said. "They'll heat it up. I figured we could share it. They asked if we wanted chocolate spread with it, but I said no."

"Okay," Phil said, nodding. "That actually sounds pretty great. Thank you. You don't mind sharing?"

"It'll be fun," Steve said, and he settled into his seat. "What were you thinking about?"

"Just something Natasha asked me about Thor. I'm sure it will all be fine. So." He crossed his arms on the table, and composed his face. "How's it been going?"

"…What do you mean? We've been keeping each other up to date with the project. I've been spending my time working on the cut-outs for the cards—"

"I meant in real life. Have you explored all of New York yet?"

"Yes. So much has changed, and not all of it for the better. I mean, the Depression is long over, and that's great. But then this financial crisis hit, and people are still getting over that. If it wasn't for all the fancy gadgetry and better health facilities, I'd swear that this was just another Depression, only a twenty-first century version." He snorted. "A lot of people can't access the right health care, which is unbelievable. I really thought the world would've advanced more by now. And it seems that as more medical advancements are made, the more diseases and conditions are found."

"Or the technology has become good enough that today's doctors can detect what yesterday's couldn't," Phil said gently. But Steve was still worked up.

"And the bigotry," he said. "In my day, a lot more things were frowned upon. Something things have changed; there's integration, inter-racial and same-sex marriage, women's rights. But some people still never learn. There's more violence – and this is coming from a guy who was brought up in World War Two – and no control over it. There are so many people out there who have guns, who just… shouldn't. Children are learning to shoot, and they're killing each other. They don't seem to know any better, and that scares me. What if, to save a hundred people, I had to make a choice between letting them die, or having to… to kill the child threatening them?"

"Steve, calm down," Phil said, and he clasped the hand resting on the table. Steve looked down at it, and his shoulders slumped.

"Why can't we all just get along?" he whispered. "I fought against bullies, and now the bullies are getting younger and younger, and there are more powerful weapons out there." He shook his head. "And Fury wonders why I was so angry about him wanting to use the Tesseract to make what would amount to a nuclear bomb."

Phil squeezed Steve's hand, and rubbed his thumb along the side. "It's great that you care so much, but what I'm hearing really worries me. I know what you fought for, and you've woken seven decades into the future to find that things have changed, and not all for the best. Most of it for the worst. I wish I could've seen the world you once knew. I'm sorry humankind has screwed up so much, and proved such a disappointment. I really am, Steve."

"It's not your fault, Phil."

"But I'm still a human, and I carry a gun and a license to kill. But I swear, if ever you had to face the decision between a child and a hundred other people, I know you'd find a third option, because that's the kind of man you are."

"A strategist?"

"Someone who cares," Phil said. His body leaned forward against the table, but he didn't notice. "And… any time you find yourself hating what the world's become, just call me, and I'll do everything in my power to make you happy again. Even if it's just bombarding you with videos of cats doing crazy things." He smiled sadly. "I'd love to hear you laugh."

Someone cleared their throat, and Phil glanced up. Then he quickly pulled his hand away and sat back, no doubt flushed to the roots of his hair.

"Your order," the young lady said, and she placed their drinks and an enormous croissant on the table. "Sorry to break a moment between such a cute couple." She smiled. Between the dimples and the curly hair, she looked like a teenaged Shirley Temple. Steve must have thought the same thing, judging by the fond look on his face. Either that, or he already knew her. "Anything else?"

Phil shook his head, and Steve said, "No, that's fine. Thank you."

The waitress bounced off. She must have been inhaling chocolate or coffee fumes. No one should be this cheerful while Phil was squirming in his seat.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"About what?"

"Just…" Phil couldn't even say it, and gestured between them, particularly their hands. Steve raised his eyebrows, and then smiled softly.

"It's fine," he said. "You knew just the right thing to say."

* * *

Rhodey and Pepper were having a stand-off.

"It's tacky to use too many different transitions," she insisted.

"It's not supposed to be a work of art," Rhodey said. "We're not aiming for an Oscar here."

"But this looks like it's trying to compensate for lack of content, and we have plenty of content." She gestured at the video compilation in the background. "That's nearly two hours of film, and we had to cut it down substantially."

"There's nothing wrong with a few different transitions—"

"You want to use six!"

"Yeah, but evenly spread." Pepper turned aside, arms crossed and lips pursed. "Pep, c'mon. It's a fun present for Christmas, and it's about how the Avengers came to be friends, and a cohesive family unit, as well as a kick-ass superhero team. There's no linear storytelling."

"I just…" She exhaled loudly in frustration. "I want it to look right! I don't want them to be distracted by special effects. That's why we had JARVIS arrange instrumental music for the background, and make sure that it doesn't drown out what's going on in each scene. And it's kind of linear." She watched another ten seconds of film. "It shows their progression from team-mates to family. It's important, and I don't want it to be trivialised."

Rhodey stepped up behind her. "Then we won't trivialise it. We'll skip having transitions during the quiet scenes, and when it goes on to the crazy stuff, we'll use fun transitions. Subtle ones. I know how you want this. But I also know that I don't want it to be a documentary. This is about family. Sure, most home movies don't use this high level of tech, and not everyone has a JARVIS to do pretty much all the hard stuff."

"I only assisted when asked, Colonel Rhodes," JARVIS said.

"And you've done a great job."

"Thank you. You and Miss Potts have both made valid points. I am certain that, between us, we can organise a happy medium."

Pepper tilted her head and smiled. "You're the best, JARVIS."

"Mr. Stark did create me."

No one could argue with that.

* * *

**Gah! I forgot that I was supposed to write this chapter today, or at least that the next chapter was for today. So this is very last-minute, and very late at night for me.**

**Please review!**


	8. 13th of December

"13th of December"

On reflection, they probably shouldn't have been so adventurous. That's what came of combining Captain America and SHIELD's top handler. Dangerous experiments in the kitchen. Not that the experiments would be all that dangerous; not if they knew what they were doing. And practise should have helped.

But they'd been at this for two hours, and made absolutely no progress beyond making a mess and using up half of the ingredients they'd bought for the chocolate-filled caramels.

"We're actually insane," Phil said. Steve nodded.

"On the other hand, we can make more than enough cookies to make up for it," he said, trying to sound optimistic. Phil raised an eyebrow. "I know. I hate wasting resources as much as anyone else, maybe more. I still remember…" He trailed off, and looked down at the mixing bowl. "It's a good thing Tony insisted on a dishwasher."

"Yeah." Phil scraped more of their last attempt into the increasingly heavy rubbish bag on the other side of the counter. "Should we give up?"

Steve didn't hesitate. "Never! Never give up, never surrender."

"Stark showed you _Galaxy Quest_, didn't he?"

"He might've done," Steve said, but he couldn't suppress a smile. "I don't care if we only manage to produce one decent caramel. We'll have half of it each, and toast our success. But we can't give up yet."

Phil walked around the bench to Steve's side, and reached for the bag of sugar. "You're right. I could never look my team in the eye again, knowing I failed to make one damn candy, and not even by myself."

Steve elbowed him gently, and Phil elbowed him back, probably on reflex. So Steve bumped his shoulder, and Phil retaliated again, looking half-amused, half-irritated.

"If you make me pour too much sugar in, I won't have time to start stirring before it burns," he said, and he dumped butter into the pan. He followed it with the sugar as Steve watched out of the corner of his eye, continuing to measure ingredients.

"Ready for the cream?" he asked.

Phil fumbled with the spoon, and went back to stirring evenly. Steve frowned, but waited for his nod. When Phil inclined his head, Steve began to pour. He didn't know what made him do it, but he pressed closer, moving his hand in circles so that the cream was spread evenly. Steve hated the cold, and sometimes central heating just wasn't enough. He'd never presume to cuddle up to someone without their permission. If asked, his excuse would be that the elements emanated enough heat to make him comfortable.

"C-corn syrup," Phil said.

Steve hummed his assent, and passed it into Phil's free hand. He grabbed Phil's wrist when it seemed like he was about to drop the bowl of syrup.

"You're kind of jittery today, aren't you?" Steve said.

Phil cleared his throat. "It's just the sugar fumes getting to me. M-maybe you should take over?"

"I'm good here," Steve said.

"Yes, you are," Phil murmured. Steve only heard because of his super soldier hearing; even at close quarters, he couldn't have heard otherwise.

"What was that?" he asked.

Phil looked up, and Steve wondered how they'd gotten so close.

"Nothing," Phil said with a quick shake of his head. "Is the next tray ready?"

Steve took a step back. "Not yet. I'll… I'll get right on it."

Two batches later – and nearing his wit's end – Steve laughed. He laughed, and pulled Phil into a hug.

"We did it!" he exclaimed. "We actually, honest-to-God, did it!"

Phil smiled widely, and patted Steve on the back, before nudging him away firmly. Steve took the hint, but he couldn't stop grinning.

"We need to take a picture," Steve said.

"I can't," Phil said, showing him his hands. "I'm not handling a camera until I get cleaned up."

"You were the one who suggested taste-testing."

"Only when it looked like we'd got it right."

Steve chuckled, and he plucked a clean sheet of paper towel from the bench. He wiped the worst of the mixture from Phil's hands.

"You're all sticky," he said. "But I'm probably just as bad. At least we finally got it done. Probably not enough to divide between the others, but these'll keep until Christmas Day, so we could put them out then. In the meantime, I say we let them finish setting, and have one each to celebrate. What d'you think?"

He looked up from where he was still scrubbing at Phil's hands, and met his eyes. For a second, everything was quiet. Then Phil yanked his hands back, and threw the paper towel into the bin.

"I'll go… go and wash up," he said, and hurried from the kitchen. Steve had no idea what the hell had just happened, and placed the tray of caramels in the fridge, before robotically moving around the kitchen. He put all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and started it up for the umpteenth time. When Phil finally emerged from the bathroom – and how long does it take to wash hands, anyway? – Steve walked past without a word to clean his hands as well.

Admittedly, he took a little longer as well, splashing his face with cold water and drying it off with his towel. He stared at himself in the mirror. What the hell was wrong with him? And with Phil? Shaking his head, Steve left the room, and found Phil taking a photograph of the caramels. He looked up, smiled softly, and then put them back in the refrigerator.

"I'll email you the picture," he said. "Do you want me to hang around, or should I take this stuff out now?" He indicated the full bag of garbage. Steve wanted to say no, he'd take care of it later. But he'd learned not to say anything that Phil could take as Steve questioning his capability.

"You can stay awhile," Steve said. "I don't mind. I'd… like you to stay. At least until the dishwasher's done."

"That could take an hour."

"What's an extra hour, after all this? I think we deserve some time to rest." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "I know I'm beat. Give me a battle to save the world anytime. I don't think I can ever eat caramels again."

"So does that mean we're not going to try the finished product?" Phil asked, following Steve into the living room. Steve smirked over his shoulder.

"I didn't say that," he said.

Then again, maybe this had been the best idea in the world. Judging by Phil's small smile as they sat side-by-side on the sofa and started to discuss which Christmas movie to watch, he wasn't the only one pleased with today's results.

* * *

'Silent Night' was the next song on the list. It was Clint's turn to play the piano, and they were doing one last run-through before starting to record.

"You know what JARVIS said when I told him that I wanted the cover to look as professional as possible?" Tony said.

"What's that?" Clint asked, straightening the music.

"He said that it doesn't have to look like it comes from the store, as long as it comes from the heart."

Clint's eyes flicked up towards the ceiling. "JARVIS said that?"

"Hey, he can emote," Tony said, tapping the piano lid. "I still want it to look nice – clear type, good colours, the whole shebang – but nothing artificial."

"Or existential," Clint said, with a twisted smile.

Tony already found Clint's arms and hands distracting enough; if his lips started to become distracting, they'd have to do twenty takes before he could sound coherent. And he knew that Clint needed to be on call, even on his day off. Technically, they all did, even this close to Christmas. It was times like these when Tony wondered what his life would've been like if they were all office workers instead, and someone else did all the heroics.

"Tony? Hey, Tony?"

"I'm here," Tony said, and he stopped leaning on the piano. "Yeah. Silent Night. I wonder if we'll ever get one of those."

"I get them often enough," Clint said, and he ran those archer's hands up and down the keys in a quick chromatic scale. "Silence is good, but it can also be distracting. No, not distracting." He frowned down at the keys. "Unnerving. Knowing that any minute some loud noise could throw your aim, or draw the enemy's attention to you. Even just put them on their alert, making your job ten times harder."

"It's happened to you before?" Tony asked. Clint nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Clint's mouth quirked up at the edges again, and he patted Tony's hand. "You didn't upset me. And it's all in a day's work. It's not like you don't know how it is."

"It's not exactly instilling in us the Christmas spirit."

"Then let's sing again, and see if music really cures everything," Clint said, and he rested his fingers on the keys for the opening chords.

"'If music be the food of love, play on'," Tony quoted, and he gave Clint his biggest smile. Clint laughed, shaking his head.

"Come on, we don't have all day," he said. "Less than two weeks until Christmas."

"Okay," Tony said, bouncing on his heels. "When you're good to go, Robin Hood."

Clint rolled his eyes, but began to play.

And Tony only screwed up the words in three of the recordings, thanks to being distracted by Clint's… Clint-ness.

* * *

**Well, that's helpful.**

**Thank the gods I have a break before the next chapter. I have to stop leaving it until the last minute.**

**Please review! The recipe for chocolate-filled caramels doesn't exist online; you try looking it up, and you only get caramel-filled chocolate. So I used a caramels recipe I found through Google. I tried to make caramel fudge once, and I failed. So there is no way in Hades that I'm trying to make caramels. Ever. Not even for this story.**


	9. 15th of December

"15th of December"

"Told you it wouldn't be too hard," Jane said, and she blew gently on the last layer of the melted glass. The first few they'd made in their trial runs had to be discarded, and carefully. But it proved that the top grade gas masks and thick leather gloves had provided excellent protection. JARVIS gave a second set of eyes – so to speak – when monitoring the temperature. Jane poured the melted glass, since Bruce didn't want the stress of it to cause him to Hulk out.

"We're actually done," he said, blinking slowly. "That's the last one. Number eight, purple layer."

Jane smiled, and put the candle holder aside to finish cooling off. The first success they'd had was sitting nearby, shining as a beacon of hope. (Bruce had groaned when he realised the unintentional pun he'd made while trying to be ironic.)

"Now we just have to clear up," she said. "JARVIS, it's time to do the last cauldron."

"We still have to put the protective coating on," Bruce said, tilting his head.

"We're going to do that tomorrow," Jane said. "Take the rest of today off, Bruce. Thor still isn't back." She frowned as Bruce took the cauldron over to the sink. "Until he gets back, I haven't got anything better to do. Darcy's busy with her new boyfriend, and Eric's giving lectures. I know." She settled back against the counter, glancing at the stained-glass candle holders. "Why don't you ask Natasha out to dinner? I don't know what their project is, but she's probably waiting for Thor to come back as well."

"Why would I ask Ms. Romanov out to dinner?" Bruce asked. It was a good thing he was holding the mixing pot, or he'd be fiddling with his glasses. "She's just a team-mate."

"I thought you liked her?"

"I do," Bruce said. "Now I know her better, I do like her. But she doesn't like me." He exhaled slowly. "I don't know what I did when I was the Hulk the first time we met, but she doesn't talk to me much, and she doesn't come near me when I'm the Other Guy. I remember that."

"Then it's a good excuse to have a meal together," Jane said.

"Clint might not like it."

"I can take it from here, Dr. Banner," JARVIS said. Bruce nodded, and backed off, before turning to Jane.

"As I said, I don't think Clint would like it."

"Why wouldn't he? You're friends with him."

"But he and Natasha…"

Jane shook her head, chuckling. "Clint's not sweet on Natasha. He's interested in someone completely different."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but didn't question it. "All right. But I think I'll just meditate tonight. You should have a girls' night out. When Thor gets back, you won't have time."

"You're probably right," Jane said. She pushed away from the counter. "Thanks, JARVIS."

"You're welcome, Dr. Foster. Good night."

"Good night," Bruce said, and he waved as Jane left the lab, leaving behind her gas mask and gloves. There wasn't a lot of cleaning to do, and it wouldn't take long. It would give him time to think.

Bruce did like Natasha, and he would have liked to take her out to dinner, even just as friends. But she didn't trust him, for some reason. He knew it had to be the Other Guy's fault. True, she was a spy, and a former assassin. (Possibly still an assassin, if he was right about the darker side of SHIELD.) It was in her nature not to trust people. It was just sad that he happened to be one of them.

When it came down to it, however, he knew that he would feel the same way if he was in her position.

* * *

Steve straightened his tie. He was wearing dress uniform, rather than his Captain America outfit, because the gala he was attending was for returned servicemen, and he didn't want to be the performing puppet. He wanted to reminisce with the few remaining men from the Howling Commandoes, and talk as soldier to soldier to everyone else. Normally, he wouldn't accept money for making a fundraising appearance; but the last few times he'd had to. They were his way of paying off his credit card, and doing his part for charity in the name of Christmas. He wouldn't have minded spending more time with Phil.

That was the problem, and part of the reason he was also relieved to have this evening busy, hopefully enough to keep his mind off more… awkward things.

His mobile rang, and he retrieved it from the bed.

"Rogers here," he said.

"Steve, is this a bad time?"

"Phil? What, no. No, of course not. I'm just getting ready to go out."

"So… it is a bad time."

"I'm nearly done," Steve said. "I'm just debating over whether or not to wear my medals as well. It seems pretentious, but they're kind of part of the uniform, and if I don't wear them people might think that I don't respect what they represent. I don't want to upset anyone."

"Where are you going?"

"Charity event. I'm wearing my uniform. Not the Captain America one you designed for me."

"I only had design _input_," Phil said, but Steve could hear a note of pride in his voice. "Of course you should wear your medals. You earned them, and don't tell me you didn't."

"If you say so," Steve said, and he opened the box. "Thanks, Phil."

"Send me a picture when you're done."

"I will," Steve said, stroking the ribbons. "So, what's up? You must have a reason to call."

"I do, yeah," Phil said. "I'm going to be away for a couple of nights. I'm at SHIELD now, with Clint. Thor's just returned, and he'll be at the tower in half an hour. Could you tell Dr. Foster?"

"Of course," Steve said. "She'll be relieved."

"He's bringing a friend from Asgard. Clint and I should be back by Tuesday morning."

"That's a week before Christmas Eve," Steve said, frowning. "Will we have enough time?"

"We factored this possibility into our schedule, Steve. We'll work on the chocolates after I get back. Barring emergencies, we'll be able to stick to our timetable from then on, right down to working on the cards and tags while the cookies and shortbread are in the oven. Now get off the phone so you can finish getting ready. I'll let you know the moment we get back to headquarters."

"Okay," Steve said. "Do you want me to tell Tony that Clint's going to be away?"

"Clint told me he'd text Tony to let him know. Just tell Dr. Foster about Thor and Fandral."

"Right."

"And don't forget that picture."

Steve smiled. "I'll get right on it. See you Tuesday."

"Knock on wood," Phil said. Then he hung up.

Just in case, Steve rapped his knuckles on the wooden top of his dresser.

* * *

Phil smiled at the photo of Steve in his dress uniform. The captain looked even more handsome than usual, if that was possible. Maybe it's because he seemed more comfortable in army uniform than as Captain America, or even just Steve Rogers. The title of 'Captain' really did belong to him.

"'Oh Captain, my Captain'," Phil murmured. He noticed Clint slumped into the chair on the opposite side of the `jet. "What's the matter? Missing Stark already?"

Clint's head jerked up, and he stared at Phil wild-eyed. "What?"

Phil crossed one leg over the other. "Oh, this is bad."

"What is?"

"You. Stark. You're plotting something."

"No, I'm not!" Clint said quickly. Phil gave him a look of disbelief. "Really, boss. Not planning anything at all. _Really_ not," he added sotto voce.

Clint clammed up after that, so Phil put away his phone and instead thought about his present for Steve.

Just the previous day, on his way to buy coffee, Phil had passed an antiques store. Through the window, he'd noticed a display box. Even at that distance, he could tell that it was perfect. Without a second thought, he'd gone in and checked it out. Decent-sized compartments, half a dozen in all, and a door inlaid with strong glass. To top it all off, it must have originally been a family heirloom, because there was an initial embossed on the wood above the glass door. The family name must have begun with an 'A', because that was the letter. All Phil could think about was 'A' for the Avengers. He'd had it sent to his apartment, and fetched it on his way home after work.

Not that Stark Tower was home. Of course it wasn't. He'd taken it back to the tower, not 'home'.

Tony had been happy to give Phil the arc reactor that saved him from Stane, believing that it was for Phil's personal collection. 'The least I can do', he'd said. Clint claimed he didn't have anything worth keeping, so Phil had added the arrowhead to the box, in the compartment next to Tony's arc reactor. He'd rigged up a way to keep them in place without harming the box or its contents.

He hadn't been able to ask Thor for something, and he'd been too busy with Fandral when they returned for Phil to interrupt. He knew that the fake ID for 'Donald Blake' was still in SHIELD storage somewhere, so there was always that if he ran out of time. Natasha had promised to give some thought to what she could contribute to the collection; she hadn't bought his excuse, but didn't force him to tell her the truth, which he appreciated. As for Bruce, anything related to the Gamma radiation accident would have been destroyed, and Phil was reluctant to drag up the past.

But… now that he thought about it, he remembered that Bruce had given him a jar of splintered wood from where the Hulk had smashed Loki, as a 'Glad you're alive' gift. There were several large pieces, and one or two of them would fit. They represented part of his journey to becoming a hero. Yes. That might work.

Before he could become distracted and end up forgetting, Phil made a note on his phone, switched it off again, and then became Agent Coulson as they neared the drop-off zone. It was really a mission for the Bus, and he was meeting his people there. But Fury had insisted on a sniper for this one, and consequently sent Clint along with him. Personally, Phil thought that he was trying to separate Clint and Tony for a couple of days, to avert any catastrophes the two could cook up between them.

* * *

**Except it isn't any kind of disaster or prank that's cooking there. Ah well.**

**Please review! And I've written this the day before it's due to be posted. I'm getting on top of this once again. Hurrah!**


	10. 18th of December

"18th of December"

JARVIS was keeping a close eye over the preparations for Christmas, and the couples' projects. If ever an AI could have emotions, JARVIS certainly could.

He enjoyed watching the doctors in the laboratory, testing their first successful candle holders for breaking points, going so far as to try blowing them up. The glass did not melt at low temperatures, nor even medium-high temperatures. They broke when thrown from a certain height, but not easily. And blowing up… it was best not to talk about how long it took for them to blow up one of the test subjects. Suffice to say, the candle holders were hardy indeed.

He felt concern for Mr. Odinson's friend, who appeared to be low in spirits. JARVIS looked after him while Agent Romanov and Mr. Odinson worked on their project. Agent Romanov had designed the scarves quite swiftly, once she had the runes provided by Mr. Odinson. He had apologised a great deal for his long absence; but then it took very little time for the Avengers and company to accept Mr. Fandral into the fold while he tried to recover from his heartbreak. Fortunately for their team, Mr. Odinson took quickly to knitting, and he and Agent Romanov were nearly finished. All that remained were to finish the ends and add bobbles.

He was pleased that Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes had settled their dispute – with assistance from JARVIS, of course – and they were in the process of printing the labels for the DVDs. Colonel Rhodes turned out to be skilled in the art of creating the technical part of DVDs, and Ms. Potters proved an apt designer. She was especially talented at choosing the most appropriate fonts. They were becoming close friends.

The two remaining couples concerned JARVIS. There appeared to be some mutual attraction between Captain Rogers and Agent Coulson, and yet it could very easily be discounted as friendship. JARVIS was not programmed to experience romantic feelings, and Sir's complicated past relationships gave humans headaches attempting to unravel them. For an AI, a being of pure logic, such things were even more troublesome. He could only observe. The touches always seemed accidental, and led to differing reactions between the two men. JARVIS wondered that they achieved anything, with such distractions.

Finally, Agent Barton and Sir. JARVIS had been the most concerned about Sir being paired with Agent Barton, as he had observed Sir's apparent feelings for the agent. He nearly adjusted the results to reassign his creator; however, that was not up to him. And it provided ample opportunity, watching them together, to see that Agent Barton was not indifferent to Sir. Were JARVIS certain that the man's intentions were pure, he would have gladly arranged for them to meet under mistletoe. But he was not willing to risk Sir's heart on what could amount to mere infatuation.

And so JARVIS continued to watch each couple as they neared Christmas. With one week remaining, he hoped – yes, hoped – that they would all finish in time.

* * *

The hug Phil had received when he turned up at Steve's door was a surprise. He'd arrived back at the tower late the previous night, and even taken a sleeping tablet to ensure that he would get in a good number of hours before they had to meet, and get started on the chocolates.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Steve said, and he let Phil go after a few seconds of awkwardness.

"Uh, thank you," Phil said. He cleared his throat, and Steve backed off. Phil held up a bag. "I saw snowflake chocolate moulds and edible glitter, so I bought some. I know we already have stars, trees, and snowmen—"

"I bought Santa faces as well," Steve said.

"…And Santa faces," Phil continued. "But I decided that I should run them by you."

Steve's face lit up as he looked over the chocolate moulds.

"It'll save time having extras," he said.

"That was my thinking. I apologise for not being here the last few days."

"It wasn't your fault," Steve said. "Bad guys work over the holidays."

Phil smiled, and followed Steve to the kitchenette. The different chocolates were already laid out, as well as the moulds, the other ingredients, and any decorations. After the chocolates were made, they were going to work on fudge for Christmas Day lunch. If there was extra chocolate left over at the end, they were going to use it for decorating the sugar cookies on Friday.

While Steve added the glitter and new moulds to the things on the counter, Phil tied an apron around his waist. He dressed down for food preparation, and since they were going to be working with chocolate, it was definitely a good idea. Even aprons weren't infallible.

"Are you okay, after the mission?" Steve said. He ducked his head. "I know you don't like me asking, but I'm just trying to be a… a friend. And a friend asks a friend if they're okay."

"I'm mobile," Phil said flippantly. Steve frowned. "Sorry. I'm absolutely fine. Most of the time was spent travelling, sitting around, travelling, and debriefing. There wasn't too much action, and most of it was taken care of by Barton and Ward. Even May didn't have to get involved… But then you only know Clint, so the rest wouldn't mean that much to you."

"I just don't know them," Steve said. "That's all."

Phil shrugged, and stood beside Steve at the kitchen bench. "What do you want to start with?"

"The trees," Steve said. "They're going to be the most difficult. Santa and the snowmen will be easy enough to decorate—"

"Your job—"

"And we'll be putting glitter on the stars—"

"And snowflakes, now—"

"But the tree moulds have to be lined with green icing first," Steve finished. "I was working on that when you got here."

"So I noticed," Phil said, nodding at the green royal icing that Steve had mixed up. "Do you need any further help, or should I start melting the chocolate?"

"Go ahead," Steve said, nodding at the saucepans. "I didn't start up the heat, because I wasn't sure when you were going to get here."

"Perfectly reasonable," Phil said. "I was exhausted when I got back, and it was late. I didn't want to disturb you with a text message, in case you worried that it was an emergency."

"I probably would've been halfway into uniform before I read the message," Steve said.

"…Speaking of uniform," Phil said, trying not to blush, "thank you for the picture you sent. I didn't have time to reply before we reached the no-phone zone. From then on, it was internal communications. So I'm thanking you now."

"You're welcome," Steve said. He tapped the spoon on the edge of the bowl. "Colour's even now. Do you want me to put it into the moulds?"

"Please do. You'll have steadier hands than I will. Artist's hands."

"Big artist's hands," Steve muttered, but Phil noticed him carefully pressing the icing into the leafy part of the moulds. It would just be on the front of each chocolate; the trunk and the back would all be dark chocolate, which Phil was starting to melt. As soon as Steve was satisfied, he pushed the moulds towards Phil.

They'd used nearly half of the chocolate they'd bought by the time they filled all of the moulds. Steve wouldn't be able to decorate them until they were set. Phil lined a baking tray while Steve began to work on the fudge.

"Should we have some music?" Phil asked.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Can I pick?"

"Go ahead."

"JARVIS, my favourite," Steve said shyly. Phil wondered why, until he heard the overture for the _Muppet's Christmas Carol_. He smiled, and watched as Steve bopped along to it. He probably wasn't even aware that he was dancing, and it was utterly endearing.

Then the first song began, and Steve joined in.

"_When a cold wind blows it chills you, chills you to the bone_," he sang. Phil stared at him, wondering how many times Steve had listened to the CD and watched the movie, and had to prompt him when the mixture was ready to be poured.

"You don't have to stop singing," he murmured, and he gently pushed Steve out of the way. "Hold the tray, and I'll do this."

Steve was pink in the cheeks, but he nodded. He even spoke the dialogue not on the track, and Phil laughed softly as he poured, and then spooned, the fudge mixture into the baking tray, with Steve holding the paper in place. Phil scraped as much of the fudge as he could into the tray, and let Steve go crazy with sprinkles. He sneaked some of the mix from the saucepan to test it, licking it from his finger as he watched Steve. When Steve noticed, he grinned, and then scooped some of the chocolate-y goodness from the pan as well.

"It's good," he said around his finger.

The sugar must have gotten to Phil, because he stole another bit of melted fudge and smeared it down Steve's nose. He giggled at the look of shock, and was prepared for the fudge that Steve smeared on his cheek. Then it became a war of chocolate fudge, edible glitter, some of the remaining condensed milk, and icing they hadn't used. Steve even grabbed icing sugar, and Phil was soon surrendering for the sake of the kitchen and his clothes. His shirt was already covered in confection.

"I missed your nose," Steve said. He pulled Phil close by the front of his shirt, and rubbed his nose against Phil's to share the somewhat soft fudge.

Staring into each other's eyes, they both went still. The only sounds were their shared breaths, and the music still playing in the background.

"_I look into the eyes of love and know that I belong_," Robin the Frog sang. Phil jumped back, and Steve let go of his shirt. Phil tugged it back into place for something to do, and avoided eye contact. Steve coughed.

"I'll put the fudge in the fridge," he said.

"And I'll… I'll clean up," Phil said. He realised that they hadn't turned off the stove elements, and did that while Steve put the tray in the crowded fridge. It was going to smell like chocolate for weeks by the time Christmas arrived. "You want to shower while I do this?"

"Okay," Steve said. "You can shower, too, if you like." Phil nearly dropped the cutlery he was moving. "I mean, by yourself! Obviously."

Before Phil could reply, Steve had ripped off his apron and hurried out of the room.

Well, this had the potential to be awkward. He may as well get on with putting things in the dishwasher, and he'd wait in the living room until Steve was done. And definitely not think about the thing that nearly happened.

* * *

Phil looked up when he heard the bathroom door open. Steam emerged first, and then Steve with a towel around his waist, and scrubbing at his wet hair with another. With all the melted sweets still stuck to his face, Phil hoped that any drool would be camouflaged.

"The bathroom's all yours," Steve said. "Sorry if I took awhile."

"No," Phil said. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for not tripping over the word, faced with semi-naked Steve Rogers. "You were… you were prompt."

"I'll organise some clothes for you, so you can get back to your room without being all sticky."

Phil thought that it would provoke more comments if he was seen in Steve's clothes, but he kept that to himself. "Thank you," he said.

Steve stepped out of the way, and Phil hurried into the bathroom. He shut the door, and immediately began to attack his buttons. His shirt was off, and his trousers around his ankles when he realised that he should have waited for clothes. Then he wouldn't have to walk out in just a towel, like Steve had. He looked around. Sure enough, there was no bathrobe.

Resigned to his fate, Phil finished undressing, and then hopped into the shower. He nearly scalded himself on the water that came out. It was understandable. If he'd been trapped in the ice for seventy years, he'd prefer hot showers as well.

He only took about five minutes, scrubbing his face, hands, and chest. (Never would he make sweets again with a shirt open at the collar. It was a good thing he was excellent when it came to washing out stubborn stains.) When he got back to his room, he would have a proper shower, with his own soap. There was no need to encroach upon Steve's hospitality any longer than absolutely necessary.

Sighing, he turned off the shower and shook off as much water as he could. Then he found the towel Steve had left out for him, wrapped it around his waist, and left the bathroom. Steve jumped to his feet.

Phil played with the top of his towel. "Clothes…?"

"Hmm? Oh!" Steve grabbed a folded t-shirt and a pair of trousers. "Here." He brought them over and held them out. Phil took them, wondering whether he'd have to roll up the legs of the trousers. Then Steve made a sound, and moved Phil's arm out of the way.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Is that… it's your scar."

"Yes," Phil said. He'd wondered when Steve would notice. "It reminds me that I'm alive, not some robot or other type of replacement. I don't know when I'll know the full details, if I ever will; but for the time being… I'm just trying to get into the Christmas spirit."

Steve was staring at the marred skin, horrified. Phil couldn't blame him. But he shivered when Steve ran a thumb down the cut.

"You could've died," he whispered.

"I did die, technically."

"Don't say that." Steve shook his head. "You're right. Christmas spirit. Happy about being alive. Here, with friends and family."

"Mmm." Phil hoped that didn't sound too much like a moan. He shivered again. "I'd better get dressed."

Steve nodded slowly, and backed off. Right away, it felt easier to breathe, and Phil retreated to the bathroom, shirt and trousers in hand. Though, come to think of it, he'd really only need the shirt. But it was the thought that counted.

* * *

Natasha hummed as she worked on the end of Clint's scarf. She was up to the last few bobbles, and her knitting needles moved at lightning speed. The thought of describing it that way to the apparent god of thunder amused her, and she smiled, still humming.

"What is that song which occupies your mind?" Thor asked. Natasha's gaze flicked up to him, and then back to her work.

"Katyusha," she said. "It is Russian."

"It has a pleasing tune."

Natasha smiled, and returned to her knitting. She was on the second-last bobble when she glanced at Thor again.

"How is Fandral?" she asked. "Has he finished mourning yet?"

"Perhaps he may have found his grief easier to bear had he courted Loki," Thor said, and he finished a bobble before he continued. "Had he spoken to Loki before the time of my coronation, my brother may not have fallen."

"Then you wouldn't have met any of us," Natasha said. Thor chuckled.

"I may well have still been cast to Midgard," he said. "Until my lesson was learnt. It is the uncertainty of whether or not Loki would have allowed Fandral to court him, and what relationship may have arisen, which contributes to Fandral's distress."

"Well, it's done now," she said. "There." She flicked the scarf so that it rested all the way to her feet, and examined it. "That is Clint's finished."

"And I am nearing the end of Steven's gift," Thor said. Natasha folded Clint's present while Thor completed Steve's. He checked it as well, and then folded it.

"This calls for a celebration," Natasha said. "We just have to wrap them, and then we'll be done. Only the cards left."

"We have done well," Thor said, nodding approvingly as he looked over all eight knitted scarves. "It was an excellent idea."

"Drink?"

"The strongest you have!"

* * *

**I've had a job interview today, if it's of interest to anyone.**

**Maybe I'll be able to get into the Christmas spirit before my sister and her fiancé arrive on Saturday. Or I could just continue to get on with things, and hope that I don't end up in a panicked rush by Christmas Eve.**

**When I decided to write this story, I asked on Tumblr if anyone had any requests for it. I sort of filled two of the three requests; one was for candy-making, the other for the boys somehow ending up naked. Since this is a get-together fic, and since I'm trying not to write so much smut, I made it naked-except-for-a-towel. And because I decided to combine that with a food fight, I made it a chocolate scene. Okay, so they made candy in an earlier chapter. Whatever. (You can tell that I'm not in the Christmas spirit yet. Gah.) Anyway, the third request will be filled on Christmas Day.**

**Please review!**


	11. 20th of December

"20th of December"

Steve had left the butter out to soften and the eggs to reach room temperature. He took the chocolate chips out of the fridge, and asked JARVIS to play Steve's Christmas play-list. It would take a long time to get through, and it was predominantly classic Christmas numbers being sung by male and female crooners and jazz singers. People from his era. There was a lot of other music, though, including his favourites from the Muppet's soundtrack. He asked JARVIS not to play those.

Thinking about what nearly happened two days ago made Steve blush. He'd emailed Phil, instead of calling him, just in case he stammered. Today… well, he was looking forward to spending more time with Phil just as much as he was dreading it. In all, they hadn't really spent that much time together, which was disappointing. And now their last couple of days were going to be awkward.

Then he opened the door, and Phil's smile melted all the awkwardness away. Steve returned it, and stood aside to let Phil in. Speech wasn't needed. He indicated for Phil to lead the way, and followed his movements as the agent took off his jacket and put it aside. Steve knew better than to start a food fight this time, even though Phil was wearing an old shirt. When he turned around, Steve laughed. It was a Captain America shirt, which Phil must have had for years. Phil smiled self-deprecatingly, and spread his hands to the side.

Steve nodded his approval, and headed into the kitchen area. He handed Phil an apron, and donned his own. Then, recipe book open to the right page and propped up on the book stand, Steve began measuring out the butter while Phil lined the baking trays. Steve added the butter, caster and brown sugar, and the vanilla to the bowl and beat the electric mixer to beat them together. Phil measured out the rest of the ingredients, and Steve added them according to the recipe.

Meanwhile, Phil started on the shortbread shapes. Steve was still pressing down the balls of dough when Phil put the shortbread dough into the fridge. Then Steve gave the beaters a quick wash by hand and put the dirty bowl into the dishwasher. He took out the next bowl, this time for the gingerbread. Phil was already arranging the ingredients, and Steve lined more trays. They'd spent a bit of extra money to make sure they would have enough utensils and other kitchen things, to save time.

If only they hadn't; then Phil would have to stay longer. It didn't matter that they weren't talking, even about the elephant in the room.

Seconds later, the next track began to play. It was 'Sweet Gingerbread Man'. Phil started to laugh, and he jerked his head towards the ceiling. Steve shrugged. He didn't even know what to say; that he'd asked JARVIS to find all the songs about gingerbread, and liked this one best. That he thought it could be considered a Christmas song, since it was about gingerbread. That he hoped Phil would think it was funny, too.

Phil's chuckles petered out, but his eyes never left Steve's. Not until the timer went off, signalling that it was time to swap the trays in the oven. Steve hurried to do that, missing the moment as soon as it was gone. Had he ever had this with anyone else? No. But then everyone was different. Maybe Phil was just the silent type?

Two songs passed before the timer rang again. He checked the cookies, and was glad to see that they were done. He placed the trays on the cooling racks, and turned the oven down halfway to save power. Phil removed the shortbread dough from the refrigerator, and Steve made sure there was room for him to roll it flat. Steve waited with the paper-lined trays, and marvelled at Phil's quiet efficiency as he rolled the dough and cut out the Christmassy shapes. They were perfect. Once one tray was filled, Steve took it aside and sprinkled white sugar on top of each shortbread cookie. After the first tray, he turned the oven back up to the right temperature; and once all the trays were filled, he slid each of them into the stove. While he did that, Phil washed his hands, and then set the timer.

Next they made the gingerbread. Midway through, Phil swapped the trays. He then took the chocolate chip cookies off their trays and crowded them onto one cooling rack, and placed the used trays aside. They'd be needed for the gingerbread cookies.

Once again, dough was stored in the fridge, cookies were removed from the stove and put out to cool, and then Steve noticed the time as he washed spots of sticky syrup from his hands. It was only an hour before they had to have lunch. Where had the time gone?

Phil must have noticed the same thing, because he shook his head when Steve went to speak.

"Agent Coulson has already arranged for lunch to be brought to your rooms when required, Captain Rogers," JARVIS said. He'd paused the music, which was considerate of him. He did sound a little edgy, but then he was one of Stark's creations.

Before Steve could reply, the music was back on, a little louder this time. Dismissing the AI's eccentricities, Steve began to move along to the music. Just in one spot, but it was kind of like dancing. Sort of. He still wasn't sure. But whatever he was doing, it made Phil smile again, which counted as a win. Steve's heart swelled, and he ducked his head.

Then he noticed a movement, and realised that Phil was holding out his hand. Slowly, Steve walked forwards and took it. Phil tugged him closer, and moved them so that Steve's right hand was holding Phil's upper arm, Phil's left hand was on his waist, and their other hands were together. Then, with a gentle pressure, Phil started dancing Steve around the room. He used the tips of his shoes to get Steve's feet to move the right way without getting trodden on. Steve felt like his heart was going to jump right out of chest, and his pulse was thundering in his ears. Couldn't Phil hear it?

"_In the meadow we can build a snowman_," Nat King Cole sang. "_And pretend that he is Parson Brown. He'll say 'Are you married?' We'll say 'No, man, but you can do the job when you're in town…'_" Then the damn alarm interrupted them. Steve huffed a petulant sigh – he couldn't help it – and strode over to the fridge to remove the gingerbread dough. He noticed Phil out of the corner of his eye, as the agent transferred the cooled shortbread from the trays to the cooling racks.

Using liberal amounts of flour, Steve coated the countertop and rolling pin, slapping a portion of the gingerbread dough onto the surface, and tried not to roll the mixture too thin. Phil pushed a prepared tray close, and Steve cut out the tiny biscuits. He heard Phil turned the oven on again, and made sure that Steve had a fresh tray ready when he'd finished one.

They'd agreed in advance that, because gingerbread dough is so sticky, they would use the small cutters, and fill the gaps in the boxes with gingerbread goodness. Steve tried not to allow his frustration with the moist dough get in the way of cutting out perfect little stars and holly leaves. Phil's hand on his shoulder had the immediate effect of calming him down. The hand moved away soon after; but by then, Steve was fine. He filled the last tray, and instead of going to the sink right away, he watched Phil slide the trays onto the oven shelves. When Phil looked back and quirked an eyebrow at him, Steve went to wash his hands. There were only the sugar cookies left to make, and they'd take up all the trays, so that would wait until after lunch.

Speaking of lunch, it was nearly time. Steve raised his eyebrows when Phil glanced over at him, and he tilted his head to indicate the clock. Phil checked his watch, and then nodded.

"I suppose you wish to have your lunch brought to you now, Agent Coulson?" JARVIS asked. This time, he sounded long-suffering. Well, it was getting close to Christmas; even robots were allowed to get stressed. Phil nodded. "Very good. It is on its way."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Phil said. The first words Steve had heard out of him all day.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Thanks, JARVIS."

The music continued, and Phil put away more of the dishes while Steve set the table for lunch. He had no idea what Phil had ordered, but damned if they weren't going to use plates and cutlery. Phil brought glasses to the table, along with napkins. The question of how messy this could get was answered when the food arrived at their – no, his – door. It was yum cha, a huge range of dishes. Beaming, Steve placed all the food on the table, glad he'd chosen to use the large one, instead of just setting up a card table or something.

Sodas poured, they clinked glasses in a silent toast. Then they navigated around each other until they both had something from each carton. Steve noticed that Phil had asked for extra containers of sauce, which was good, because they sure were addictive. Steve knew that, by the end of an hour, there were specks of sauce around his chin, and possible some on his nose. All this baking had made him hungry. If there were a few cookies left over, Phil had suggested they eat those. But Steve was determined to fit as many as possible into each box.

Thoughts of cookies flew out of his head as Phil sucked the remaining sauce from his fingers. Steve nearly knocked over the last of his soda when he reached for a napkin. Phil caught one up instead, and wiped Steve's face for him. Steve realised that he probably didn't even know he'd done it, because Phil then cleaned his own face with another napkin. It didn't click until he was picking up their empty glasses. Then his jaw dropped, and he stared at Steve.

Smiling, and shaking his head, Steve showed that he didn't mind. He helped Phil tidy up, and nudged him with his elbow. When Phil raised his eyes to meet Steve's, Steve smiled wider, until Phil relaxed. That settled, he went on to set up for the sugar cookies.

This made the largest amount of dough, and therefore would make the most shapes. It started in a similar way to the chocolate chip cookies, so Phil handled the electric mixer while Steve measured the ingredients. It was incredible, the way they just moved around each other with signals and body language, like a dance. Like two operatives who'd been together so long that they didn't need to speak. Even when they each took a section of dough to roll it out, they rolled it to the same thickness. Sure, when it came to the last pile of dough, their hands brushed together. Phil divided the mixture evenly, and Steve fought against the flush threatening to colour his cheeks.

They worked at it, filling the trays, until there was no longer enough dough to cut out. Phil grinned as he popped his remaining dough into his mouth, and Steve copied him. It was good.

The next ten minutes or so was another dance, this time swapping the trays every few minutes to ensure that the cookies started to brown around the edges. Once a couple of trays were ready, Phil set them on the cooling racks, and Steve monitored the others. He was looking forward to icing them, although they'd have to wait until the cookies were cool.

By now, everything else had cooled down, and Steve helped Phil store them in airtight boxes. They'd put everything together a couple of days before Christmas, after they made the brownies. Judging by the number of things they'd made, the presents would last awhile, and there'd be enough left over for Phil and Steve to snack on them. After all, as the bakers they had to make sure that everything tasted just right. (Of course that was their only motive.)

Since it would take awhile for the sugar cookies to cool off, they retreated to the living room again. The music was still playing – well, it _was_ a long play-list – so Steve tentatively held out his hand. Phil's eyebrows shot up, but he accepted it, and they began to dance again. It was nice and quiet, until…

"_I want a hippopotamus for Christmas_," a child-like voice sang. "_Only a hippopotamus will do_."

It wasn't exactly right for slow dancing, and Steve admitted to himself that he'd forgotten that the song was on his list. He bowed his head, cheeks definitely turning red now, and tried to move back. Phil squeezed his hand, and Steve glanced at him. Phil wasn't laughing, but he was grinning, and he used his other hand to move Steve's hips faster.

"_I can see me now on Christmas morning, creeping down the stairs. Oh, what joy and what surprise when I open up my eyes to see a hippo hero standing there_."

Steve stared at Phil, amazed, as the stern SHIELD agent sang along. Unable to resist, Steve joined in.

"Only a hippopotamus will do. No crocodiles, no rhinoceroses, I only like hippopotamuses, and hippopotamuses like me, too."

Instead of staying in one place, Phil led them around the room, carefully avoiding the furniture, and Steve laughed as Phil hummed along to the instrumental part.

"Mom says a hippo would eat me up but then teacher says a hippo is a vegetarian," Phil sang. Steve hung his head as he kept laughing. It got worse when Phil imitated the voice of the singer – Gayle Peevey? – and Steve's stomach started to ache. He managed to sing again for the end of the last verse.

"No crocodiles, no rhinoceroses-es, I only like hippopotamuses-es, and hippopotamuses like me, too."

They took a second to catch their breath before the next song. It was a slow one again, which Steve was more than happy about. Then he recognised the lyrics.

"_Do you remember me? I sat upon your knee. I wrote to you with childhood fantasies._"

Phil's lips parted in an 'oh', and he slowed almost to a stop. It was less like he was holding Steve for a dance, and more that he was just holding him. Steve's pulse raced as Phil rested his forehead against Steve's chest.

"_No more lives torn apart and wars would never start and time would heal all hearts. Every man would have a friend and right would always win and love would never end. This is my grown-up Christmas list._"

Lea Salonga kept singing, but Steve was too busy pretending not to notice the few tears that fell onto his shirt. He'd never seen Phil cry, and he hoped he never would again. Not tears of sadness. Steve couldn't make some kind of comforting gesture, in case it made Phil break down. If the almost-kiss made things awkward, that could be the end of any possible friendship between them. At the very least, it would be a hell of a setback.

So Steve hummed the tune of the song that he knew was Phil's personal favourite, and shivered as Phil surreptitiously dried his tears on Steve's shirt. It took a hell of a lot for Steve not to bury his nose in Phil's hair and just breathe him in.

It's not like he hadn't come to terms with his growing feelings. He had. But the intensity, and in such a short amount of time, had thrown him. He hated the Bus for having a claim on Phil, when Steve wanted to keep him around. It was selfish of him, since Phil was doing such good work. It didn't stop the jealousy.

And didn't Phil feel the same way? He had to, or they never would have come so close to kissing. Or maybe he didn't have feelings for Steve, and that's why it didn't happen.

But… but the dancing… and the smiles… They had to mean something, right?

Four songs later, Phil turned his gaze on Steve, and let go of him. As he wandered towards the kitchen, Steve worked it out; it was time to ice the cookies. He followed, silent again, and help Phil whip up a heap of water-based icing. Between the two of them, it didn't take long at all. Phil let Steve dab different colours on top to make patterns.

This time, they waited in the kitchen until it was time to store the results of their baking spree. The time dragged on; then, when everything was in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher, it was too soon. Phil was going to leave, and Steve would be all alone again.

At the door, he wanted to ask Phil not to go, to stay just a little while longer. But he didn't ask soon enough, and Phil left without another word. A small smile, and that was it. He was gone.

* * *

"We don't have to do this," Tony said. "You have to be tired after the other day."

"Says who?" Clint asked. "Look, I'm fine, and it's not like we're recording anymore."

"I can do this on my own—"

"But that's not the point of the project," Clint said. "It's nearly done. I've brought the cards so we can do those, and then we'll be done."

"But…" Tony bit his lower lip, and then shook his head. "Forget it. Let's just do this."

"Tony, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. Really."

"Yes, there is. Have you forgotten you're talking to a spy?"

Tony smirked. "I never forget that. Pervert."

"That's one place I'll never go," Clint said seriously. "Now, c'mon. What's up?"

"The sky."

"Tony!"

"I don't want to lose you!"

His words echoed around the lab. Clint cocked his head.

"Is this about the mission? Because that wasn't a problem. I'm back safe and—"

"If I was worried about your work, I'd be freaking out all the time. This isn't… this isn't about that, Clint."

"Then what _is_ it about?"

"It's about…" Tony sighed, and rubbed his face. "It's about these last three weeks. It's been amazing, and I don't want to lose that."

"We can still hang out. I live here, Tony. We see each other every day, except when I'm on a mission. I know we can't exactly keep touch while I'm away, but when I come back—"

"No, Clint." He turned away. "That's not what I mean."

"…There's always your piano. The music doesn't have to end he—"

He had his answer when Tony swung around and pulled him into a hard kiss. He backed Clint up against a bench, rattling some of the glass tubes there, and didn't let up until Clint gave in and returned the kiss just as fiercely. Then they had to break apart for oxygen. When Tony refused to meet Clint's eyes, he cupped Tony's chin and forced him to look.

"Is this a new thing?" Clint asked. Tony shook his head. "How long?"

Tony swallowed. "M-months."

Clint shut his eyes tightly, groaning. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"How much time do you have?"

"Tony."

He huffed, and let go of Clint's arms. Clint opened his eyes, and watched as Tony backed off.

"Well, for starters, you're way more kick-ass than me, which shouldn't be possible," he said. "Your body… God, your arms, your chest, your legs, your eyes…" He trailed off, staring at Clint. "Just… the whole package. Gorgeous." He paced back and forth. "And then there's your smile, your sense of humour, your competence. I like competence. If it's a kink, I have it."

Clint dropped his gaze to the floor. "Tony…"

"I know I'm sex on legs, but nothing compared to you," Tony continued. "You've seen and done things I can never relate to. We've… we've talked a lot, Clint, and I've learned that you've never liked killing innocent people, even if it was for money to survive. Whereas I… well, I never considered who'd die from the things I made, and I kept making money because that's just what I do. I don't need billions to survive. I'm one of the superficial people, and you're down-to-earth." He shrugged, and glanced at Clint. "Add to that the heart-of-gold thing, and, well. What would you want with me? Even if you were bi, what would you see in me worth… loving?" He nearly stumbled over the last word, and broke eye contact again.

Clint hated that his tongue wouldn't move, and he could see it happening, one of those points in a drama where one of the leads is in too much shock to do anything, leading to a big misunderstanding where the other lead thinks that their feelings are unrequited, and… he wasn't going to let that happen. Tony's face was already shuttered off. Clint would just have to open it again, and he pulled the engineer close.

"Everything," he whispered, and he crushed his mouth to Tony's.

And when Tony finally reciprocated, Clint felt like he could stop the apocalypse one-handed, as long as Tony kept kissing him.

* * *

**If anyone wants any of the recipes from this chapter, just ask. If you're on ffnet, you can send a PM. Those on AO3, I'll reply in a review. The recipes featured in this chapter were:**

**Chocolate chip cookies**

**Shortbread shapes**

**Gingerbread shapes**

**Sugar cookies**

**For the Capsicoul part of this chapter, never have I written so much text with so little conversation. Was it boring, or was it still entertaining enough?**

**And Clint and Tony get together! Woo hoo! Now, to sort out the other pining couples. Only four chapters to go…**


	12. 23rd of December

"23rd of December"

Natasha halted when she saw Bruce doing yoga on one of the sparring mats in the gym. Calm music was playing in the background. He held out a hand to quiet her, and she closed her mouth before she could speak. Instead of immediately starting her own stretches, she watched, wary as ever.

It wasn't the Hulk. As long as Dr. Banner trusted her, she was safe from the Hulk. He wouldn't remember it, but the Hulk had saved her life three times in battle since the Avengers were formed. He had not made any threatening moves towards her for some time. Yet, no matter how mild he appeared, it was the undercurrent of danger that reminded her of certain aspects of her job. She remained on alert around still waters. At any moment, after all, the tide could turn.

"Dinner?"

Her head jerked up and she stared at Bruce.

"What was that?" she asked.

"You heard me," he said, and he stood up. "Thanks, JARVIS." The music stopped. "I'd like to have dinner with you sometime. Here, at SHIELD, anywhere you want. We don't know each other all that well, and I'd like to change that."

"We know enough about each other, doctor," she said. "We fight battles together; that is all."

"We live together, Ms. Romanov. There's a difference between colleagues and room-mates, especially when the two are combined. Will you have dinner with me or not?"

Her eyebrows drew together. "I don't think I am comfortable with that, Dr. Banner," she said.

He didn't seem disappointed as he packed up. Instead, he merely shrugged.

"I had to ask," he said. "At least I know now."

"Know what?"

"That you're not interested in being my friend," he said. "I'm willing to move out, if you want me to."

"No," she said quickly. "Usually, when I am alone with a man – or on a date with him – it is because I intend to extract information related to SHIELD business."

"It wouldn't be a date," Bruce said.

"Nevertheless, doctor, I rarely socialise in a one-on-one situation for any reason other than work. This prolonged contact with Thor has helped me progress in feeling comfortable around people I don't know very well. You could… give me some time."

He smiled. His smiles were never big, and often nervous. This one was happy. Natasha relaxed.

"Okay," he said. "When you're ready, come find me."

"I will," she murmured as he left the gymnasium.

* * *

Huddled together near the Rockefeller skating rink, Clint looked at Tony.

"You're insane," he said. "You're actually, certifiably insane."

"I can't argue with that," Tony said. "Bruce said the same thing. Mind you," he licked his spoon and swallowed, "he's not that kind of doctor."

Clint chuckled, and Tony watched him eat another spoonful of ice cream. It was one of his less… conventional ideas; but then Tony Stark never came up with conventional ideas. When he'd taken Clint to see the biggest Christmas tree in New York City, they'd stopped off at a twenty-four hour shop. Instead of buying a hot drink, Tony had talked his new boyfriend into having ice cream with him instead. He'd bought a small tub for each of them, and even in this forty degree chill, they held their snacks close. Tony had the JARVIS in his watch monitoring Clint's body, just in case he got too cold and didn't notice it.

Since they were only small tubs, it didn't take too long to get through. Some people stared at them as they threw the trash into a bin; who ate ice cream outdoors this time of year? Fucking Iron Man and Hawkeye, that's who.

"Want to go skating?" Tony asked. Clint shook his head vehemently.

"I'm not going there," he said.

"Reason being…?"

Clint pursed his lips. "Bad memories. I don't want to talk about it."

Tony didn't push the issue; instead, to make his boyfriend (and he wasn't going to stop referring to Clint as his boyfriend, because it was awesome) feel better, Tony wrapped him up in his arms, adding his own limited warmth along with his jacket. Clint slid his arms around Tony's waist and let himself be held.

"I'm glad no one's said anything bad about us being together yet," Clint mumbled into Tony's scarf. "I want to get through the Christmas season without any problems."

"Hey, there. Who'd say anything bad?"

"The press," Clint said. "Fangirls, fanboys. People at SHIELD, people at Stark Industries."

"So, we do what every good leader does. The best defence is a good offence."

Tony felt Clint's smile more than he saw it. "I'm glad I kissed you."

"That right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Want to kiss me again?"

"It'll be my pleasure."

* * *

Phil had been delayed by a journey on the Bus, which led to an incident, which led to incident reports. Steve had sent him a message the previous day to tell him to rest, and they could make the brownies when he was feeling better. Phil only had a couple of scratches and an isolated bruise; but his hands – especially his right hand – were aching from filling out forms all day.

Hand well-rested, scratches nearly healed, and bruise fading, Phil showed up at Steve's floor two days before Christmas. Clint and Tony were out – both to the team, and on a date – and it was all fairly quiet. The temperature seemed to have dropped, which made it a good day to make brownies.

Just like Friday, they barely spoke to each other. The three days apart had caused a setback, making it awkward between them again. But they still moved like a well-oiled machine. Phil started with the mixer, creaming the butter and sugar. Steve set out the measured ingredients for him, and Phil only checked the recipe once to make sure that he added everything in the correct order. The stove was already on, making the kitchen nice and warm, and JARVIS was playing music again. It was the Nutcracker suite, which was appropriate for Christmas.

Phil was humming along by the time he added the final ingredient. Steve was more than capable of decorating, so Phil was happy to make the batter. His fingers faintly brushed against Steve's while he poured the mixture into the slice tray, Steve holding the baking paper in place. Phil felt even warmer when he was near Steve, and he wished he could have this all the way through winter. But it was an unreasonable wish.

It would take awhile before the tray had to come out of the oven. Steve had laid out the pieces for the tags, so Phil sat down and began to assemble them. He'd insisted on it, since Steve was working on the cards. That was why he'd been glad to let his hands recover; there was no way he wanted to make any mistakes. Steve had clearly arranged extra parts, just in case Phil screwed up any of them.

He had just finished the fourth tag when the alarm went off. Steve, who'd been dividing up the cookies and candies to package after the brownies were decorated, gestured for Phil to stay where he was.

Phil lost himself in his task, and it didn't take long to finish the rest of the tags. He didn't realise that his tongue was sticking out until he noticed Steve staring at his mouth.

God, that almost-kiss happened over and over in his dreams. He just couldn't talk about it with anyone, least of all Steve. No matter how much he'd tried, he couldn't find anything else to talk about. Thank God for JARVIS and music. Not that Phil had planned to dance with Steve. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Then JARVIS played 'Grown-Up Christmas List'. Phil had forgotten that he'd told Steve it was his favourite Christmas song. He'd waited for Steve to react to his tears, and was half-relieved, half-disappointed that nothing happened.

He looked up when a plate was waved in front of his nose. Steve was holding it out, so Phil took it, and watched as Steve bent over and moved the tags out of the way. There were three gingerbread stars, two shortbread shapes, a chocolate chip cookie, and two sugar cookies in the shape of bells. Phil smiled nervously, but Steve just sat down opposite him with his own plate, and held up a cookie in a toast, which Phil returned, bemused. He moaned softly while he munched on gingerbread. Each of the biscuits had turned out well. Modesty aside, they were just like his mother used to make them.

"You will be able to commence decorating the brownies in five minutes, sirs," JARVIS said.

Steve thanked him, but they finished their snacks before they retreated to the kitchen. The icing sugar was already out, and so were the sprinkles in Christmas colours. Steve began on the icing, and Phil lifted the brownie onto a plate. He watched Steve spread the icing on with sure, artistic strokes, and tried not to imagine those same hands cupping his cheeks.

They placed the brownie in the refrigerator, so that it would be easier to cut. In the meantime, Phil noticed Steve absently swaying to the music. He wanted to offer his hand again, but he didn't know whether it would be accepted.

He didn't need to worry. Steve pulled him close without asking. Phil's damaged heart skipped a beat, and he was sure he gasped in surprise. Steve automatically put his hand on Phil's upper arm, so Phil held his waist again. Even though the oven had cooled by now, Steve's hand was warm in his as they shuffled around the kitchen to 'What Child Is This?'. Phil didn't question any of it. Not until after the brownie was cut, everything was packaged, and the tags were signed and tied on.

Not until Steve had accompanied him to the elevator, and they stood before it, facing each other. Phil leaned around Steve and pressed the button. They still hadn't spoken.

"I'll…"

Phil looked up at Steve, startled by his voice. Steve tried again.

"I…" He touched Phil's cheek. "I wish you weren't leaving."

Phil unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "I can't stay here."

"Why not? You… you invented the Avengers Initiative. You should be our handler. We need someone. We need you, Phil."

"Steve—"

"Please." Steve tilted Phil's chin up. "Stay."

Phil leaned close, eyes shutting slowly. "I… Steve, I have the Bus."

Steve let go, and Phil opened his eyes again. He didn't know why he'd closed them.

"Well, I'll miss you," Steve said. He took a step back. The elevator door opened smoothly. "Goodbye, Phil."

"I'll be here for Christmas—"

"And then you'll be gone," he said. "I know all this. But now that I know _you_…" He sighed. "I guess I'll see you on Wednesday."

Phil hated to leave like this, but he had no choice. He nodded once, and then walked into the elevator. He didn't turn around again until the doors were closed.

* * *

Fandral observed the life of Midgard through a window in the guest chambers he had taken. Thor continually imposed his presence, despite Fandral's wish to be left alone. New surroundings had not dimmed the pain in his chest, nor were they likely to. It would have been better had he stayed in Asgard; there were few people he could fight here without injuring them severely, were he even of a mind to battle.

Every flash of dark hair or green eyes caused him to think of Loki. He longed to see that smile full of mischief again. Even when Loki had appeared mad, Fandral visited him in his prison, mourned his fall, rejoiced in his life only to lose him once more. He had adored Loki since they were children, and been fascinated by the tricks he performed. Despite Fandral's attempts to lose himself in the beauty of women, Loki never strayed from his mind, and Fandral could never bring himself to bed someone more than once.

There had been many opportunities for Fandral to give voice to his feelings. He was certain that Queen Frigga had known, but she had never spoken of it. Perhaps if he had approached her, she may have advised him.

Now there was no Frigga, and no Loki.

Fandral drifted into a dream-like state, fatigued with life. How long would he pine ere he recovered from this?

As an hallucination of Loki appeared before him, Fandral feared that it would be never-ending.

"You are saddened," the Loki apparition said. Fandral laughed bitterly.

"And you are observant," he said.

"Am I truly the cause of your distress?"

"Your death is."

"Why?"

"Because I longed for you," Fandral said, and he returned his gaze to New York City's skyline. "Since we were but children I have admired you. I came to care for you."

The vision moved closer. Fandral cast his gaze to his lap.

"How did you care for me?"

"I loved you," Fandral said. "I still love you, and I believe I will until I die. Perhaps even in Valhalla my feelings will be unchanging."

The hallucination appeared stricken. "I never knew."

"Then I concealed my secret well."

"If I…" It hesitated. "If I had chosen a different path—"

"I still would love you."

"And if I lived?"

Fandral allowed himself to shed some tears. He was alone; none would see. "I would still fear your rejection. Loki." He choked on the name. "_Loki_. You were so powerful; how could you have died?"

The apparition bent close, and reached for Fandral's hands. Fandral tensed, wishing the moment would never end. But then the image met his flesh, and disappeared.

With unsteady breaths, Fandral twisted his fingers together and stared out the window once more.

* * *

**By the way, forty-three degrees Fahrenheit is six degrees Celsius. That's what my desktop gadget says, anyway, and I have no reason to doubt it. When I started writing this chapter, it was nine o'clock at night in Brisbane on the twentieth of December, and that's what the temperature was in New York at that time. No idea what time of day it would have been there. The point is, that's bloody cold. Hence the insanity of eating ice cream.**

**Only three remaining chapters. I'm having to write everything in advance, so that I won't have to take time out on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to write.**

**Please review!**


	13. 24th of December

"24th of December"

JARVIS was keeping watch over everyone under his care. Sir and Agent Barton were at Sir's piano, the two of them alone together, playing and singing duets. Not Christmas music; they must have tired of it. That they were songs of affection had not escaped the AI's notice.

"If we start singing Cole Porter, I'm gonna find it hard to take this slow," Sir said, and Agent Barton chuckled.

"It's spring again," he sang, improvising an accompaniment. "And birds on the wing again start to sing again, the old melody, I…" He trailed off, and the chord faded out. Agent Barton was staring at Sir's mouth. JARVIS had witnessed a sufficient amount of this between them to know that a kiss was due to commence. He was proven correct when they fell upon each other a mere moment later.

When they had slowed down sufficiently, Sir gave Agent Barton one last kiss, before pulling him up.

"Don't ever tell Steve that I said this, but we could at least… 'neck'. In bed." He winked. Agent Barton moved his arm around Sir's waist.

"I'll never tell," he said. "If you take me there right now."

Once they reached Sir's quarters, JARVIS respected their request for privacy, and cut his video and audio to the bedroom. However, he continued to monitor their health, as some part of his system always had to be on alert in case of emergency.

Another part of him watched the group in the living area, talking and laughing. The group consisted of Dr. Foster, Mr. Odinson, Agent Romanov, Dr. Banner, and Colonel Rhodes. Miss Potts joined them while they were four-point-three minutes into the Christmas film they had chosen to watch, and Mr. Fandral joined the party not ten minutes later.

The only two remaining residents were Agent Coulson and Captain Rogers. Their case had intrigued him more since they danced the first time. When they had resumed the previous day, he had run the statistics to determine the most likely moment they would further their relationship. Outside the elevator, he delayed opening the door when it appeared that one of them would 'make a move', to employ the vernacular.

Yes, an Artificial Intelligence certainly could experience frustration.

When he observed Agent Coulson taking the elevator to Captain Rogers' room, JARVIS began to run calculations again, and he hoped for something to happen. He had sworn to himself that he would not interfere, and wished that he could break his own protocols. However, as he was not human, he was not in a position to discern their feelings with completely accuracy, and decided that it was best to allow matters to run their course.

* * *

"Hello," Phil said. Steve smiled widely.

"Hi, Phil," he said. "I wasn't expecting you. I just finished the cards—"

"And I haven't signed them yet."

"That's right," Steve said, ducking his head. He looked at Phil through his eyelashes. "I guess you'd better come in."

"If it's not too much trouble."

Steve touched Phil's arm as he passed, and Phil cocked his head.

"I'm sorry… about yesterday," Steve said. "I shouldn't have said what I did. It was unreasonable. You're my friend now, or I'd like to think so, and it hurts that you'll… forget us."

"_What_?" Phil's eyes widened and his jaw hung open. "How could I ever forget you? Yes, I think we could be considered… friends. I could never forget about you, any of you. Clint, Natasha, Tony… you. I hate to say it, but especially you."

"Why would you hate to say that?"

"Because I've known and worked with Natasha and Clint longer than I've known any of you. It feels like I'm betraying all that—"

"You already have, with your Bus… I'm sorry." Steve shook his head, and they sat on opposite sides of the coffee table. He pushed half of the cards towards Phil, and handed him a pen. "Promise you'll keep in touch?"

Phil smiled at him softly. "Try to stop me."

"I won't."

They each wrote their Christmas messages, and then swapped cards to sign off. While waiting for the ink to dry, Phil admired the drawings that Steve had sketched and coloured for the front of each card. They were absolutely beautiful, so beautiful that Phil couldn't stop staring. He'd bought the cutest possible card he could find, because he thought it was something Steve would appreciate. Now that he'd seen what Steve could draw, his card paled by comparison.

Well, Steve wouldn't be expecting a miracle. Phil was more concerned about how Steve would accept his gift.

They checked the boxes of treats, and ate the last two brownies. There had been four left over, and they'd had two yesterday (to test them, naturally). Phil stopped himself from wiping off a bit of icing on Steve's upper lip. He regretted pointing it out when Steve used his tongue to get it, instead of using a finger like any decent person would've done.

"Are you joining us tonight?" Steve asked. "We're going to watch Christmas movies."

"I'll be hanging out with my team, and I'll also visit SHIELD. But then I'll come home… I'll come here."

"I'm going to church, but if I get back before you, I'll save you a seat."

"Thank you," Phil said, and he stretched as Steve took their plates to the sink. "Do you need me anymore?"

Steve started to speak, then changed his mind. After a couple of seconds, he tried again. "The cards are done, and so are the presents," he said. "Our project is done."

"So… you don't need me."

"I… No. I guess not. But you don't have to leave."

"I still have wrapping to do," Phil said. "I'd better get on with that, so I have more time with the others before I'm due back here."

"Oh." Steve nodded. "Okay. Well, see you tonight."

There were no more close encounters. Phil shook Steve's hand, foolishly allowing it to linger before he let go. He couldn't get a reading on Steve's expression, and retreated to the elevator.

But it seemed like things were all right between them again. Whatever had happened, it worked. Phil could leave without feeling like there were loose ends. He'd never been so grateful that he'd forgotten about the Christmas cards and the other slices of brownie. It might have been awkward to call Steve about it, or have Steve call him. Turning up unexpectedly turned out, for once, to be the right thing to do.

Back in his own room, Phil wrapped his gifts for Fury, Sitwell, and Hill, and for his team on the Bus. And then he turned his attention to the last – the most important – present.

He had finally obtained the last objects within the past two days. He now had: the arc reactor (Tony); the arrowhead (Clint); the shards of wood (Bruce); the fake ID (Thor); half a handcuff (Natasha); and an old dummy grenade (Steve). Yes. He had everything secured in place, and he wrapped the box. He went to the trouble of fitting the paper exactly. It took a hell of a long time, and a lot of cursing on his part; but it was finally just right, and he carefully tied silver ribbon around the finished package. He attached a gift tag, and set it aside to go under the tree later. Then he collected together his other presents, and dressed to go outside as he took the elevator down to the garage.

* * *

Steve left church at half past eight, and bundled himself up before mounting his motorbike. He kept just under the speed limit the whole way back to the tower, and wondered whether Phil was back yet. He'd left that afternoon, and Steve was worried that he might not get back until late, and miss whatever they were going to watch.

He settled with the others when they were halfway through _Love Actually_. Clint and Tony had joined them at some point, and were squashed together in a large armchair. Someone had left two thirds of the sofa free for Steve and Phil. Phil wasn't there – not yet – but Clint said that he was definitely coming straight from SHIELD. No one mentioned the Bus, and Steve was glad he wasn't the only one who wasn't looking forward to letting him go.

"What next?" Rhodey asked. They'd just finished the movie, and Steve kept checking his phone in case Phil sent a message to say he was coming.

"Agent Coulson will be here in approximately thirty minutes," JARVIS announced.

"We've got time for _The Snowman_," Clint said.

So they watched one of the most beautiful – and bittersweet – cartoons Steve had ever seen. It was breathtaking how much could be said without words, and just a bit of music. Just like when he baked with Phil.

"Hey, Agent!" Tony said, grinning. Steve looked over his shoulder, and his heart lifted when he saw Phil. He was aware that there were tears on his cheeks, but he didn't bother to wipe them away. Phil met his eyes, and his smile made Steve feel better. Steve indicated the place next to him, and Phil obediently sat down.

"What are we watching now?" he asked.

"We've had a chick-flick, and we did the action movies earlier," Tony said. "Clint and I thought we should end with a classic. Not _It's a Wonderful Life_; no attempted suicide. We don't want war, either. So _Meet Me in St. Louis_, or _Holiday Inn_, but they're set the whole year `round. _White Christmas_ has war, otherwise we could totally watch that."

"How do you define a classic?"

"I told you it was subjective," Clint said, nudging Tony. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. You're brilliant. Moving on. JARVIS, what's your opinion?"

"If we are going by dates, there is _Scrooge_ from 1951. Or _Miracle on 34__th__ Street_, the 1947 version."

"Or there are the modern classics, like _The Muppet Christmas Carol_," Pepper suggested. "_The Nightmare Before Christmas_? _Elf_?"

"Muppets," Natasha said. "Don't judge me when I say that I could watch that film over and over again. I know Steve is obsessed with it."

Phil tensed beside Steve, but since the majority voted, JARVIS started up the one movie Steve wished they had avoided. He loved it; but he'd be thinking about Phil the whole time, and when they'd danced to the music.

Still, by some miracle he got into the film with as much enthusiasm as ever, and kept singing and quoting along. At least he wasn't the only one; Natasha, Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey knew a lot of the words, and even Jane knew some of them. He was so involved that Steve realised a couple of seconds too late that he'd rested one arm on the sofa behind Phil. Phil gazed up at him, and Steve vaguely registered that Tiny Tim was singing _Bless Us All_. He really just wanted to kiss Phil, but that would be a monumentally bad idea. In public, and without knowing whether Phil really wanted it? And it was kind of an awkward angle, though it probably wouldn't matter once they were…

Phil rested his head on Steve's shoulder, solving that problem. His eyes fluttered closed towards the end of the film, and Steve let his arm fall to Phil's shoulders. He noticed funny looks, and hoped that interrogations would be postponed until after the holidays, preferably until after Phil left.

In the meantime, he savoured this last moment together.

* * *

**I don't know why Clint knows a Cole Porter song. It just seemed… right. And I had this image in my head of him singing it to Tony and then just kissing him before he even finished singing 'I love you'.**

**Only two chapters remaining: Christmas Day and Boxing Day. I hope you've enjoyed your Christmas Eve chapter. Please review!**

**Edit: I've been reliably informed by some people that 43F/6C is not considered 'bloody cold'. I'm from Queensland, Australia, so yes, yes it is. However, for those of you used to ridiculously low temperatures, we'll pretend that it was still cold enough for people to think that Tony and Clint are nuts for eating ice cream outside in that weather.**


	14. 25th of December

**Happy Christmas, everyone! Alternatively, happy holidays! Or whatever people are celebrating. I don't know. Have a nice day, regardless.**

"25th of December"

After the film the night before, each couple had brought out their presents to put under the tree; then JARVIS had woken someone every so often during the night, so that they could take the gift for their partner up to the tree without being seen.

Now it was the morning of Christmas Day. All ten of the gift-givers – plus Fandral – were having a light breakfast. Steve had been to an early service at church, and they'd all straggled into the kitchen at different times. But, for a wonder, they were all sitting together by the time they had to get ready for the day. The turkey was already in the oven, the snacks were ready to be distributed into bowls, and everything else was either in the fridge, freezer, or pantry. They were going to roast some vegetables, and there'd be salad, cold meats, hot meats, punch, pie and cakes for dessert, and the caramels that Phil and Steve had made. There were drinks in the fridge and at the bar. Even with Thor and Steve's monstrous appetites, there'd be more than enough.

"To a happy, healthy Christmas Day," Pepper said, raising her glass of juice. They all toasted it, some more sleepily than others. Then, dishes done, they all wandered off to finish getting ready.

Bruce was apparently the first one done, because he was grinning from the couch, with an empty box in his hands, and mistletoe in several places. There was no doubt he'd put some up in other spots, too. He did insist that kissing on the cheek was permissible, since some of the people in their group were in relationships, and he didn't want anyone to feel uncomfortable.

Presents weren't going to be unwrapped until after everyone left. It was a flurry of activity from the morning until lunchtime. Everything was laid out like a buffet for those who dropped in for a little while.

"AC!" Phil nearly jumped when Skye pounced on him from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I'm not terribly fond of people surprising me from behind," he remarked wryly. "But I'll make an exception for Christmas. Just don't do it again."

Skye squeezed him extra tightly, and then let go. "I'm gonna go fangirl over Tony Stark now; but I wanted to say merry Christmas to you first."

Then she kissed him on the cheek and bounced off again. Phil hoped she wouldn't have too much sugar. Now aware that the rest of his team would be there, Phil went to find them. Surprisingly, Agent May gave him a chaste kiss under the mistletoe. Agent Ward actually smiled, especially when Fitz and Simmons jumped Phil from both sides. He'd had no idea that they liked him so much; it seemed inexplicable. But his scientists hugged him close. Once he got over the shock, he returned it. They were like his children, in a way. Then he directed them towards Bruce, partly as an extra present for them, and partly in revenge for all the mistletoe Bruce had put up.

The crew of the Bus stayed for a few hours, until they went their separate ways. They'd managed to thaw out the Avengers, who seemed standoffish at first. Phil was irritated by their attitude, especially when Steve took longer than any of the others to ease his stance. Even Natasha and Clint warmed to Phil's new people after awhile. It took a disappointed look from Phil to force Steve to relax, and reluctantly engage with them.

As the day wore on, people began to leave. The last had just gone – leaving the original eleven – when there was a loud clap from the balcony.

"The hell?" Tony said. Clint grabbed him before he could run off to check it out.

"You're not in your armour," he said.

"Fear not!" Thor said, and he grinned. "`Tis my father."

He strode out to the balcony, and the others trailed behind. Thor embraced Odin, and then introduced him to everyone. Fandral bowed to his ruler, but quietly remained at the back of the group. Odin stared at him for a minute, and then returned his attention to Thor. Phil wondered whether that was how he had treated Loki, and if that contributed to his actions.

"I gave you leave to reside on Midgard because I am sharing the throne with another," Odin said. "None know of this arrangement, although it shall be announced tomorrow evening."

"With whom are you sharing the throne, Father?"

A second later, Heimdall delivered someone else to Odin's side. It was… another Odin.

Mjolnir was in Thor's hand immediately. By then, the first Odin was laughing, and the other Odin gave him a withering look.

"You swore not to continue this masquerade," the second Odin said. "Will you not show your true form? You owe it to him, my son."

Phil glanced from Thor to the first Odin to Fandral. Thor frowned, the fake Odin pursed his lips, and Fandral… Fandral had paled significantly. He stared at the fake Odin. When Phil looked back, the fake Odin slowly melted away to reveal Loki.

Before Thor had told them of his brother's death, and before Fandral's heartbreak was made apparent, they might have reacted more strongly. Instead, everyone parted out of the way as Loki walked up to Fandral. It was the season of forgiveness and love, after all. Fandral was frozen to one spot, his eyes growing the nearer Loki got, until the trickster stopped only inches away from him.

"You need not be afraid," Loki whispered, and he cupped Fandral's face. "I would not turn you away. I am the one who fears rejection, my dear Fandral. I… I had not even supposed you to consider me a friend."

He clutched Loki's shoulders. "Am I in a dream?"

"No. I am real, Fandral. As real as ever I was."

Fandral didn't seem to know what to say. His lips moved soundlessly. Loki solved the problem by pulling Fandral into his arms and holding him, just holding him. He ran his fingers through Fandral's hair and kissed his head. The real Odin nodded, and Loki and Fandral disappeared in a blaze of coloured light. Then Odin and Thor said goodbye, and the king left without ceremony.

"Well." That was Rhodey. "Can't say we see that kind of thing every day."

"It gladdens my heart that Loki yet lives," Thor said, wiping away a tear. "Perhaps one day we shall speak again."

"Presents!" Tony said. "Come on."

Jane linked arms with Thor, and they all traipsed back into the living room. They soon got back into the festive mood, and Natasha was – surprisingly – happy to play Santa and distribute the presents from each couple.

Phil opened his gift from Natasha and Thor first of all. His scarf was silver and black, with a different rune every few inches along. Even though it was pleasantly warm inside, it had been cold outside, and he was glad to wrap the scarf around his neck. He smiled at Natasha, and she winked back in acknowledgement.

Next, he opened Pepper and Rhodey's present: a DVD entitled 'The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Friends'. He laughed softly at the corny title, and checked out the pictures on the back of the case. He didn't expect to be in any of the footage, but he was in one of the photos, which touched him. He couldn't wait to watch it. The blurb promised that it was the true account of how the Avengers became a family.

The next gift was from Jane and Bruce, and it was a beautiful stained-glass candle holder, with a squat candle already inside. It must have been a Christmas one, because the wax was gold and glittery. Now that he was warm again, he rolled it up in the scarf, even though Jane assured him that nothing short of a huge explosion could break it. He didn't ask how she and Bruce had worked that one out.

Last of all, a CD from Clint and Tony. He smiled as he read the list of tracks, which included 'Christmas Mem'ries', 'Jingle Bell Rock', and 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town'. A mixture of different styles, something to suit everyone. Phil already knew that Clint could sing, and that the archer was extremely careful not to let anyone hear him. That Phil now had something like this to keep made it extra special.

"Oh my God, I've been dying for gingerbread," Pepper said, and she popped one of the stars into her mouth. "You guys are the best."

"Sorry it isn't as long-lasting as the other things," Steve said, looking a bit down. But, judging by everyone's groans as they helped themselves to their baked presents, there was no reason to worry. And, as Jane pointed out, they'd be keeping the tins.

"Also, the handmade cards rock," she said, holding hers up. Steve's drawing of the shepherds looking at the star had mainly focussed on the stars, which clearly appealed to the astrophysicist. Phil knew Steve had tried his best to personalise each card.

They all took a break to take their presents back to their rooms, so that they'd be out of the way. When they all congregated again, Tony handed out drinks so that they could toast a successful Christmas gift-giving exchange, and the whole day in general. Then it was time to exchange the personal presents, and each couple paired off to swap gifts.

"I hope you like it," Steve said, handing Phil what felt like a box. It was much smaller than the one he had for Steve, and not as weighty. Rather than guessing what was inside, Phil read the card, and then removed the wrapping, since Steve appeared to be antsy.

Phil gasped as he clutched the clear box housing what looked like mint condition Captain America cards. Gingerly, he opened the case and thumbed through the collection. A complete set, impeccable condition, and all signed by Steve. Well, technically by Captain America; but it was a present from Steve. He shook his head.

"I… I don't know what to say," he said. "It's so much… How did you…?"

"JARVIS led me in the right direction," Steve said. "I worked a couple more charity galas to get them. Do you… are they okay? I know it seems kind of an obvious present, but you admire heroes so much, and Director Fury ruined your original trading cards, so I kind of wanted to make up for that."

"Steve, you didn't have to…" But Phil's chest ached with happiness, and he grinned up at Steve. "Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me. It wasn't… awkward for you, was it? I mean, we're friends, and I hate the thought that it—"

"It wasn't awkward," Steve said. "The opposite. I just want to make you happy. That's all."

Phil ducked his head, and carefully put aside the box and card, and stuffed the wrapping paper into the bag Tony had organised for trash. Then he went and got Steve's present. Steve's eyes widened, but he didn't comment on the size of the box. He placed it on the sofa, and opened his card first. His face lit up when he saw the picture. Phil had loved the drawing on the front of his card; seeing Steve's reaction put his mind at ease. But there were still the proverbial butterflies in his stomach, and the feeling grew worse as Steve unwrapped his present.

Steve didn't say anything as he stared at the box. Then he turned his head towards Phil, giving him a strange look. "Can you… can you tell me about it?"

Nerves still very much there, Phil swallowed, and pointed to each compartment as he spoke. "This was the first arc reactor Tony ever built, in that cave in Afghanistan. It saved his life from the man who betrayed him." He moved on. "This is the head of the arrow that Clint shot into the wall next to me as a warning when I tried to bring him in. It didn't take long to convince him that SHIELD was his best option, after I'd sent him to medical with a shot wound in his leg." The next compartment. "This is from the day you came together as a team, and the Hulk smashed Loki into the floor repeatedly. Bruce gave me some of the shards of wood, which he must have kept. This was probably the most important part of his superhero origin story."

"Go on," Steve said. Phil didn't dare look at his face, and pointed at the next compartment.

"When I met Thor, he masqueraded as a man called Donald Blake, right down to a fake badge that the others had made. I knew it was fake, but something told me to let him go, so I did. I couldn't think of anything else, I've gotta admit. This," he indicated the handcuff, "is from Natasha's story. I was assigned as her handler, thanks to Clint. She didn't seem to trust me, not for a long time. If she did, she never showed it. Then I was captured during a mission, and I managed to communicate with the others enough to tell them to go. It would have been too dangerous for anyone to rescue me. It really would have been better if I'd been left there." Steve made an odd noise. Phil ignored it. "Then Natasha broke orders, to come and find me. I'd never seen such strength from anyone. I was bound to a chair with handcuffs, and there wasn't time to pick the lock; we both knew it, and I tried to convince her to leave. But she just… broke the chain. Literally. She ripped it in half with her bare hands. I don't know whether she knew I kept the half I was left with."

Phil sighed, and moved onto the last compartment, which was the hardest one. "This is a dummy grenade."

"I know."

"It's from when you—"

"Were tested. I get that."

Phil dropped his head. "I was tested, too. When I was in training. I didn't know it was a test; I'd never even heard your true story. By then, my motto was 'What Would Captain America Do?', and when that grenade was tossed among us, I did what I thought was right, throwing myself on top of it. It wasn't until afterwards that I was told that you had actually done the same thing when you were in training. So I guess it's as much my origin story as it is yours."

When he finally got the nerve to look up, he saw tears in Steve's eyes, and his heart broke as Steve strode out onto the balcony. Torn between giving him privacy and apologising, Phil decided on the latter, and followed him out there.

"Steve?" he said. Steve was leaning on the railing, and Phil walked to his side. He dared to touch Steve's shoulder, and felt how he trembled. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. You care so much about your friends, and I know you regret not being there for their journeys. I was trying to give you a piece of them, and remind you of who you are at heart. If I'd known, I would've done something else, I swear. Tell me how to make it up to you."

Steve exhaled shakily, and turned to face Phil. "You can't. There's… there's nothing to make up for."

Then he hauled Phil close and pressed their mouths together. Phil held onto Steve's arms and returned the kiss with every feeling inside of him. His worry, his confusion, his relief, his love. He pushed his tongue against the seam of Steve's lips until they parted, and deepened the kiss, clutching at Steve like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. If they stopped anytime soon, Phil was pretty sure he would implode. He showed Steve how to twist his tongue just the right way, how to suckle his lips, how to press as closely as possible to each other until there was no space between their bodies.

Despite breathing through his nose to sustain the kiss as long as possible, Phil's lips began to ache, and he pulled his head back. Steve took the hint; but he didn't loosen his grasp until an icy breeze surrounded them.

"Could do with that scarf now," Phil said. He licked his lips with an almost numb tongue. Steve nuzzled his cheek, tears still pouring down his face.

"It's beautiful," he murmured. "Everything. It's perfect. I didn't even know that I wanted something like that. You read my heart."

"I know you, Steve."

"Makes my present seem kind of dull."

"No," Phil said, and he stroked Steve's hair. "It's a representation of a great person, just like mine's a representation of the great people I know. I love it. And I… I love you, Steve."

Steve brightened, and wiped away his tears. "I love you, too, Phil. It's been hell trying not to kiss you the last week. Ever since the day we made fudge, it's all I've wanted to do, but I didn't know whether or not you'd want that. The number of times I've come so close…"

Phil stroked the skin at the back of Steve's neck, gazing up into his eyes. "I wish one of us had taken that extra step."

"Can I take that extra step again?"

"I hope so."

It grew colder as they kissed a second time, so they retreated inside. There, Phil faced his other fear: that the rest of the Avengers would be offended by his choice of present. The others were all gathered around the box, and looked up when Phil and Steve returned.

"So that's why you wanted my old arc reactor," Tony said. "I was under the impression you wanted it for your personal collection, Agent."

"I may have equivocated in that respect," Phil said. "We were supposed to keep everything secret, remember?"

Tony grumbled, but didn't seem put out. In fact, they all looked impressed.

"That was a good idea," Natasha said. Phil remembered her advice to him, and couldn't have been more grateful than the day she'd saved his life against direct orders.

At the end of a long day, they all curled up together, toasty warm, some slightly tipsy from eggnog, and munching on popcorn as they watched more Christmas movies. Phil's legs were entangled with Steve's where they snuggled at one end of the sofa. Steve had enfolded Phil in his arms, and it was easy to fall asleep when he was being held so tenderly. In fact, sleep sounded like a very good idea.

* * *

**Their backs will be killing them in the morning, but ah well. I wake up curled around a soft toy horse every morning, so I can't talk. (Mind you, I have it on good authority, i.e. my mother, that I look adorable with soft toys.)**

**Very short last chapter, which will be like an epilogue; but then, with Christmas fics, Boxing Day is more of a coda than anything else, isn't it? Unless it goes all the way up to New Year's Eve or New Year's Day. Perhaps that's just my experience.**

**Please review!**


	15. 26th of December

"26th of December"

Steve awakened to birdsong, and smiled as he wrapped his arms further around the warm body. He went still for a couple of seconds, until he noticed that it was Phil he was holding. Memories from last night returned with a vengeance, and he remembered his terrible behaviour. His reaction to Phil's present had worried the agent so much that he'd apologised; and then Steve had gone and kissed him without warning. He had to admit that it was something which had been building for a few weeks. Still, it had been unacceptable just to presume that Phil really did want to kiss him.

Then Phil had kissed back, and every damn thing fell into place.

With a sigh, he kissed the top of Phil's head, and cuddled him closer. His movements woke Phil, who tensed immediately.

"Just me," Steve said softly. Phil shivered, and craned his neck around so that he could meet Steve's eyes.

"Hi," he said, also whispering. Some of the others were still asleep. "Did yesterday really happen?"

"It did."

"And you really…?"

"Yeah." Steve rubbed noses with Phil, and remembered the day with the fudge. "You?"

Phil nodded, humming, and then pecked Steve's lips. "We should probably get up. I'll need to stretch if I don't want to have a backache the rest of the day."

"There are worse ways you could get a backache," Steve said, and he reluctantly let go.

"And more satisfying ways," Phil said, standing up with a glance towards Natasha, curled in a ball at the other end of the sofa. He smiled down at Steve. "We'll let them all sleep. I'm sure they need it."

Steve stood gingerly as well, and followed Phil into the kitchen. They'd still be nearby if someone wondered where they were (and it was closer to the coffee machine), but it was out of the way enough for them both to give their bodies a quick stretch and work out the kinks. That it ended with Steve being kissed up against the counter was just a perk.

Since it was likely that the others would only want a light breakfast – especially since they now each had a box of sweets to get through – Steve and Phil made at least a dozen slices of plain toast, and set them on a tray with butter, jam, honey, and a few other spreads. There was still some fruit salad in the fridge, if they wanted any later. Steve took the tray out while Phil started up the coffee machine. Gradually, the rest of the Avengers and friends had woken up, and were rubbing their eyes and/or yawning. Steve smiled as he put the tray in the middle of the group.

"Phil's doing the coffee, and there are still leftovers from yesterday," he said.

"This'll do for now," Clint mumbled, and he nearly fell over trying to crawl to the tray. He slumped on the carpet and moaned. Tony flopped down next to him, and stretched out far enough to get a couple of slices. He handed one to Clint, who seemed content enough to nibble on dry toast. He snuggled up to Tony, and Steve smiled widely.

"You're so cute," he said.

"Especially `cause we're waitin'," Clint said around a bite of toast. "God, the way he kisses..."

"And what about you and Agent?" Tony said, narrowing the one eye that he had open, all while winding one leg around Clint possessively. "Don't tell us the cold had anything to do with those chapped lips you both had last night."

Steve chuckled, and he headed for the kitchen just as Phil came out.

"Who wants coffee?" he asked. There were a few grunts. Only Natasha seemed to be alert now, and she smirked as Phil and Steve went to fill the requests.

"You're under the mistletoe," she said. That perked everyone up, and they appeared from behind the furniture like meerkats.

"I'm game if you are," Phil said. Steve grinned at him.

"Always," he said, and he tilted his head down to meet Phil's lips.

It wasn't as desperate as the night before, out on the balcony; but it sure as hell had the same intensity. Now that Steve had a better idea of what to do, he sneaked his arms around Phil's back and went for gold. Phil moaned into his mouth – Steve felt it more than he heard it – which made him even more eager to get the same reaction again. Soon he forgot all about their audience, and got lost in Phil. He'd never felt like this about anyone, not even Peggy; not on this scale. He was even seriously considering taking Phil to bed right now, something Steve never thought he would do so early in a relationship.

"Okay, you can stop now… really… would you just…? Break it up, guys!"

When Steve registered the words, he huffed, and broke the kiss. Phil looked irritated, and glared at the others.

"You asked for it," he said.

"Yeah, but it's like watching your parents make out," Tony said.

"Except hotter," Pepper remarked, and she clearly tried not to laugh when her ex scowled at her.

"I think we'll leave them to get their own coffee," Steve said, and he stroked his hand down Phil's arm to link their fingers together. "Want to go back to that café where the girl thought we were a couple?"

"If she serves us again, I'm giving her a large tip," Phil said, and he and Steve sauntered out of the room.

They'd work out later what to do when Phil returned to the Bus, because he couldn't abandon them; he was central to the team, and they were his people. Steve had to respect that, much as he hated it. In the meantime, he was having the best Christmas, and he wanted to keep it going as long as possible.

The End

* * *

**I ended it like this because I couldn't think of anything better. Sigh.**

**Still don't feel too Christmassy, even though we went to the beach today. It nearly rained, which at least would have brought down the temperature. But we all know what it's like when we delve into temperatures, so we'll skip that bit. But I got a book for Christmas where I'm one of the characters in a story based on 'The Avengers'. Best mother ever. One of those stories where your name is used, as sometimes your friends' names. You know the ones? Yeah. They have them for 'The Avengers'. Mum got it through Identity Direct.**

**Happy Boxing Day! Or whatever the day after Christmas is called wherever you are.**


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